Someone Saved My Life Tonight
by JadedDragon4
Summary: COMPLETE! They didn't choose to be partnered together or for tragedy to strike. But now, lost, hurt, and together, they must choose to save each other . . . or die alone. Dramione. Rated M for language. Adult content in later chapters. Please R
1. An Unlikely Pair

**Someone Saved My Life Tonight**

**Chapter 1: **

**An Unlikely Pair**

_Hagrid owes me BIG TIME!!_ Hermione Granger thought darkly as she trudged heavily through the Forbidden Forest.

It was a brisk day in late autumn on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The air was damp and had a bitter cold bite to it. It was just cold enough that Hermione's nose stung and her breath was beginning to show in wispy white puffs—and that only added to her bad mood.

Leaves crunched noisily beneath her feet as she continued on her way. Glancing quickly over her shoulder, she scowled as she caught sight of the person lagging a few yards behind her.

_Oh, he _definitely _owes me . . . ._

Brooding, she turned her attention forward once more and began to walk faster, her feet stomping the ground heavily. Silently, she thought back to how she had gotten blindsided into this situation.

It had started off like any other day: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and she had left the coziness of Gryffindor Tower and—careless and laughing—made their way across the green to Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class.

The briskness of the day quickly turned their noses red and caused their cheeks to tingle.

Walking, Hermione had pulled her cloak more tightly around her body. Secretly, she wondered why Hagrid was still having class outdoors—it was much too late in the season for the weather to cooperate. And, to tell you the truth, she found standing out in the cold to be torturous and distracting to her studies.

But they had come to realize a long time ago that it was futile to try and decipher Hagrid's ways of teaching. Every day brought something unexpected and exciting (and, more often than not, dangerous). Plus, he was their friend . . . so they would do whatever he asked of them—even ifit meant standing outside and freezing their asses off.

Reaching the clearing, they had quickly joined a group of fellow Gryffindors who were huddled together for warmth. Quietly, they had talked amongst themselves as they waited for class to start.

Finally, Hagrid had taken his place in front of the class. He was wearing an over-sized coat made of some kind of animal fur. It engulfed his body—adding to his natural bulk—and made him look horrendously large. His eyes—glinting like black beetles— twinkled excitedly above his bushy beard.

Yet just as he had opened his mouth to speak, a group of Slytherins sauntered lazily into the clearing.

And unsurprisingly, it was lead by none other than Draco Malfoy.

The smile on Hagrid's face had quickly vanished and was replaced with a look of disapproval at their tardiness.

Unfazed, Draco had stared contemptuously right back at him.

Uncomfortable tension built in the cold air as their eyes remained locked—each refusing to break eye contact.

In the end though, it had been Hagrid who had forfeited and had torn his eyes from the platinum-haired nuisance. With an angry roll of his eyes, he turned to face the rest of the class.

Instantaneously, his facial features softened and he began to speak eagerly.

With animated hand gestures, Hagrid had delved into their next project: As to be expected, he had discovered a new creature that they could care for. However, this particular creature had a very strict diet . . . a diet very hard to find. But—fortunately for them—the very vegetation the creature survived on could be found in scarce areas within the Forbidden Forest.

Their task was simple enough: Split into pairs, take a section of the Forest (which Hagrid had meticulously mapped out prior to class) and scour—until the vegetation was found. To ensure safety, the boundaries of the predetermined sections lay close to the edge of the Forest.

As the words rushed from his mouth, the cold air caused his breath to swirl around his face like fog.

Listening intently, Hermione didn't mind their upcoming assignment. Hagrid knew the Forbidden Forest backwards and forwards, so she felt safe following his thought out directions. Plus, if they were walking, they might at least be able to stay somewhat warm.

Smiling, she looked over toward Harry and Ron and wondered which one would be partnered with her. She was just beginning to think of "who would owe what," or "who would lose what," or "who would have to _do _what," in order to be her partner when Hagrid's words cut off her thoughts abruptly:

He was picking pairs.

And she had just been paired with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione looked up at him in horror.

Slowly, she had turned to look at Harry and Ron and caught a glimpse of Draco's face: A look of disgust and pure hatred contorted his features.

When Hagrid had finally finished, the students quickly began to break up into their pairs.

Hermione turned toward Draco, and wasn't surprised to see that he was blatantly ignoring her—his entire body turned so his back was facing her.

She hadn't wasted the opportunity.

Instantly, she was at Hagrid's side, quietly pleading for an explanation.

Remorse had filled Hagrid's black eyes. Quickly, he looked over at Draco's back before lowering his voice. Almost inaudibly, he hastily explained that students weren't doing too well in his class—Draco one of them. If they didn't raise their grades, he was in danger of losing his job as a teacher at Hogwarts.

Hermione listened, her anger subsiding briefly as her heart broke for her friend.

Hagrid loved this class . . . and to lose it would kill him. And consequentially, as his friend, Hermione would also feel that pain.

But there was a solution to all of this: A very simple solution. And it was a solution that Hermione had the opportunity to fulfill. So, no matter what discrepancies she was feeling, she had no choice but to push aside the petty differences that she shared with the pestiferous Slytherin and follow through. She wouldn't be able to bear living with herself if she didn't.

So, that was exactly what she had done. Begrudgingly, she had pushed aside all argument and, with an inward sigh and a discontented backwards glance at Draco, had agreed with a single nod of her head.

Silent gratitude had quickly filled Hagrid's eyes, but he hadn't had time to express it in words—the student pairings were beginning to break off toward the forest. Hastily, with a final thankful glance at Hermione, Hagrid had raced toward them, loudly yelling to send up red sparks if they encountered any problems.

Watching Hagrid's back, Hermione had taken a deep breath—attempting to level out her emotions—and forced herself to think happy thoughts before turning back to face Draco.

He was staring at her with a look of unadulterated repugnance on his face.

Swallowing her pride, Hermione had forced a thin smile onto her face. Yet, just as she opened her mouth to say something to him, Draco rolled his eyes irritably and turned toward the woods. Hermione had watched in shock—her mouth still slightly agape—and watched as he strolled toward Hagrid, viciously ripped the directions to their section from his hand, and disappeared through the foliage—without so much as a glance backwards.

And that's where they were now: slowly making their way through the Forbidden Forest toward their assigned section. Neither had spoken a word since they began, but at one point, Hermione caught up with Draco, then passed him, and was now leading. Draco lagged behind, jadedly shuffling his feet through the leaves.

And, to tell you the truth, Hermione was tiring of his blasé attitude. She glanced down at the directions that she had angrily snatched from Draco's lightly clenched fist and sighed. She knew that they were heading in the right direction, but because they were the last group to receive their assignment, their predetermined section of the Forbidden Forest was the farthest out. Or, perhaps Hagrid had assigned them that particular section because she was Hermione, and he knew he could trust her. Either way, Hermione was quickly exhausting, and frankly, she was sick of doing all the work.

A large boulder loomed in the midst of a sudden clearing and Hermione took the chance to lean against it. Breathing heavily—her face tingling in the brisk air—she brushed her frazzled hair back from her face and looked back at Draco in vexation.

He stopped a few feet back and appeared to ignore her blatant look.

Hermione frowned deeply, her eyebrows knitting tightly over her eyes. Angrily, she cleared her throat.

Draco looked up, annoyed. "What?" His drawl mirrored his facial features.

Hermione sighed heavily before answering. "Do you maybe want to lead for awhile?" She didn't try to mask the exasperation in her voice.

Coolly, Draco looked briefly at his manicured fingernails before looking her square in the face. Nonchalantly, he shrugged. "No."

Hermione felt her blood boil in her veins. "Look, Malfoy . . . you are _not_ going to ride my coat-tails on this one."

Draco's silvery eyes narrowed. "I don't take charity from anyone . . . especially a Mudblood like you."

Hermione ignored his comment and pressed her hands tightly on her hips. "Then, I suggest you take some initiative, or I'll tell Hagrid that you did jack squat for this assignment!"

Mock concern crossed Draco's harsh features. "Oh, no . . . please don't tattle on me to the big, giant oaf!"

Silently, they glared at each other—each refusing to budge. Hermione felt anger racing through her as she glowered at him.

Finally, Draco's expression melted back into one of indifference—and he actually had the audacity to look _bored_.

_Oh, how she _hated_ him!_

She hated how he always seemed to remain so goddamn _cool_. No matter what she did, what she said, or how she looked at him, it never seemed to faze him—and that pissed her off.

Finally, Draco rolled his eyes sarcastically from her. Turning on his heel, he began to stroll off.

Taken aback, Hermione stood, momentarily frozen in place, until she realized that he was walking away from her.

Confused, she quickly looked around the clearing—lifting her hands palm up at her sides—before yelling toward his retreating back. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Taking initiative." Draco refused to turn around, and his voice sounded far away as he continued on his path away from her.

"But, that's the wrong way!"

"Then go your own way." There was a slight edge to his words.

"But we have to do this as a team!"

Draco didn't answer her. Instead, he continued to make his way down his own path. His broad back was quickly getting harder to see through the trees.

Hermione watched him retreat, open-mouthed. Torn, she looked down the path that they should be going down and then back toward the direction Draco was going.

His cloaked back was now nearly invisible to her.

Cursing under her breath—with one final glance down the correct path—she abruptly took off at a jog to catch him.

He was already a good 50 feet ahead of her and walking with a purpose, so by the time Hermione caught up with him, she was thoroughly out of breath. With a final burst of speed, she brushed passed him and stopped, blocking his path.

Draco skidded to a halt, looking irritated.

Hermione ignored him and, panting, placed her hands on her hips. "You're going the wrong way."

"I don't care."

Without any warning, Draco turned to his right and began once again through the leaves.

Hermione bit her tongue at his immaturity and raced to catch up. Running, she overtook him quickly and once more threw herself in his path.

"You're not going to be able to complete the assignment if you go that way!"

Draco rolled his eyes and spun away from her once more.

Fuming, Hermione yelled at his back. "You won't find the right vegetation!"

Draco ignored her, and his strides became longer.

Feeling anger build in her chest, Hermione took a few deep breaths before hurrying after him. He was so far ahead of her by that time, that she had to sprint just to get close to him. Yet, as soon as she was within reach of him, he abruptly turned from her and started down another path.

Hermione turned to follow, but once more, as soon as she was close enough, he would turn a random degree and move away from her.

They continued this way for a long time.

Yet, with each turn, Draco's footsteps would widen—his pace quickening—until he was almost jogging.

It was almost as if he were making it into a game—a sadistic game of Cat and Mouse—and he was enjoying this torment of her _way _too much.

Because, no matter how fast Hermione ran—or how close she got—she was always the Cat . . . and unable to keep up with his long legs.

Twisting and turning, she followed him, running restlessly through the Forbidden Forest. She wasn't quite sure where her focus came from, but she had become determined that he would not win this one, and thusly, her mind was centered on that, and nothing else.

Branches and leaves whipped past her head and snagged painfully in her hair. Keeping her eyes trained on Draco's retreating back, she brushed her hands around her face hastily, freeing herself from the bothersome twigs.

He was once more an arms-length away, but Hermione's lungs burned. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt thick as it lay heavily on the bottom of her mouth. She was quickly tiring and it was become more and more difficult to breathe. Gasping, she tried to push her legs a few more steps, but they were weak and felt like Jell-O.

Breaking into a small clearing, Hermione suddenly stumbled and fell, scraping her knees painfully on the pine-needle covered ground. Shaking, she pushed herself upright. Panting, she remained bent over and clutched at the stitch in her side. She couldn't catch her breath and her anger was beginning to resurface.

And she blamed that anger on her next action—because she couldn't put any other rational explanation to what she did:

Bowed toward the ground, her eyes fell upon a small stone. Before she knew what she was doing, her mind went blank as all thought was replaced with undiluted rage and she was suddenly bending toward the ground. Her small hand wrapped around the stone. It was smooth and cold and weighed heavily in her palm.

She had never had a good arm, so she wasn't quite sure what she was trying to accomplish. But, with fire fueling her movements, her arm was suddenly cocked behind her ear and she was yelling.

"Jesus Christ, Malfoy! Could you just _grow _up?!"

With those words, her arm was suddenly snapping forward and the rock was hurling through the air.

Still breathing heavily, Hermione watched with growing horror as it rotated rapidly through the air on a straight path . . .

. . . and clocked Draco directly on the back of the head.

His head snapped forward and his forward momentum ceased.

And it was exactly at that moment—exactly when Draco turned around and she was able to see the murderous look on his face—that her mind was suddenly clear again and her anger was quickly replaced with fear.

Draco's silver eyes narrowed and turned a dangerous shade of molten metal. In three quick steps—with his robes billowing behind him vehemently—he crossed the small clearing and closed the space between them.

Hermione's mind and heart were racing, but she forced herself to stand her ground.

Draco took one final step and stopped directly in front of Hermione.

Hermione had never noticed before, but now, with him standing so close and his chest heaving, Hermione was suddenly acutely aware of his height. He stood nearly a solid foot above her, and there was venom dripping from every inch of his frame.

She didn't mean to, but suddenly instinct kicked in, and her hand twitched slightly toward the wand that was hidden in her robes.

It didn't go unnoticed.

Draco's eyes flickered from her face, to her hand, and back . . . and time suddenly seemed to move in slow motion.

Draco's face twisted into a scowl at the same time his hand moved toward his robes.

Hermione noticed the movement and suddenly her own hand was wrapped tightly around her wand.

Concurrently, their wands emerged.

There was a blur of movement.

Without a second though, and with a snap of her wrist, Hermione thrust her wand into Draco's neck.

She was a quick draw, but unfortunately, so was he.

And it was with surprise that Hermione felt the tip of Draco's wand pressing into her own throat.

Together, they stood glaring at each other—each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Breathing heavily, Hermione concentrated on keeping her arm steady and her wand tight against Draco's skin. She didn't know exactly what she was planning on doing—was she really prepared to hurt him?—but she wasn't about to back down.

Draco stood equally as still, his nostrils flaring in anger. He too refused to back down as his stare bore into her.

Seconds ticked by, with the sounds of the Forest the only noise around them.

Later, Hermione would look back at the incident. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to figure out whose fault it all was—was it Draco's for his childish immaturity?

Or was it hers for picking up that damned rock?

No, it was his for leading her blindly through the Forest to that specific clearing.

Then again, it could very well be hers for tripping and falling at that exact instant.

But no matter how much she thought about it, she would never truly be able to cast blame.

But she _would_ be able to pinpoint the exact instant that everything went wrong.

It was the exact instant—when their eyes were locked on one another, scowls written on their faces, their wands pressed tightly into each other's throats—when the earth shook slightly beneath their feet.

The movement was minuscule—hardly noticeable at all—yet Hermione felt it under her shoes. With a gasp, she tore her eyes from Draco's face, but that was the only thing she had a chance to do.

Because the earth suddenly fell from beneath them.

It all happened so suddenly. One moment, they were staring at each other—daring the other to make the first move. Then, they were falling . . . and Hermione was screaming.

The sudden drop caused Hermione's arms to fly above her head and she was horror-stricken when she felt her wand slip from her fingers.

It felt as if they fell forever through darkness. Hermione couldn't see a thing in front of her face—she only felt the wind whipping past her head, tangling her hair and causing her robes to billow.

And then the ground was suddenly there.

She hit it, hard.

Her stomach lurched at the sudden stop.

Her feet hit first, but her knees couldn't handle the impact and buckled. The momentum behind the fall caused her to fall violently forward. She tried to put her hands down in front of her—to cushion her fall—but everything was happening too fast.

Her hands slid out from under her—scraping painfully across the ground—and, unable to protect herself, her temple slammed into the ground. Stars exploded in front of her eyes in the darkness.

Crumpled and broken, she lay face-down on the cold ground, unable to breathe as pain flowed over her body in waves.

Finally, unable to fight it any further, her eyes rolled back into her head and everything went black.


	2. How Do I Loathe Thee?

_A/N: So sorry for the horrendous delay. Two words: Writer's block. For some odd reason, I found it incredibly hard to get something down on paper that I was happy with. But, I finally got something. So, I hope you like it. Thanks so much for your continued support. It means a lot to me!! Oh, and PLEASE read and review. I thank all of you who have done so. I'm also so thankful for those who have put this story on alert or added it to your favorites, but I find it so much easier to continue with my work when I can hear your thoughts ____ Thanks again, and enjoy._

_Disclaimer: You all know that I don't own the characters. Wish I did, but the world's not perfect. Oh, and there's some language this chapter. Hopefully it doesn't offend. Onward._

**Chapter 2:**

**How Do I Loathe Thee? Let Me Count the Ways.**

"GODDAMMIT!"

Hermione heard the shout, but it hurt too much to open her eyes.

Her head was swimming and nausea flooded over her with each painful breath she took.

Cracking an eyelid, she grimaced as her head throbbed in protest.

She wanted to slip back into nothingness—wanted the comfort of unconsciousness to take away the pain, but just as she was once more slipping away, another one of Draco's angry shouts ripped her from her sanctuary.

She was still laying facedown—dirt crudely coating her lips and invading her mouth.

Lifting her head a fraction of an inch, she attempted to spit, but as lights exploded in front of her eyes she was only able to muster enough strength to have the spittle drip messily from her lips and trickle slowly down her chin to the dirt-covered floor.

Sighing dejectedly, she slowly lowered her head back to the floor. Unmoving, she lay there for a few minutes until she couldn't stand the smell of the ground invading her nose. So, gathering her strength, she took a deep breath and gently rolling herself over onto her back.

Instantly, her body screamed in pain and a new wave of sickness hit her like a ton of bricks.

With her eyes tightly closed, she focused on her breathing, and waited for the nausea to subside. Then, she slowly allowed her eyes to open. Staring upward, she saw the hole from which they had fallen. The imperfect circle of broken earth shone through the darkness, high above her head—like the Gods had taken a cookie cutter and removed a section of the midnight sky, allowing the light to break through.

But the sky looked different—darker . . . overcast—and it was obvious that the sun in the sky had changed position—

_How long have I been unconscious?_

—and, as an involuntary shiver rippled violently through her body, she was also suddenly aware that the wind had significantly picked up.

She felt disoriented.

Her head was swimming, and it hurt to think.

So instead, she merely lay there, staring blankly at where they had come from.

The uneven sphere—shining like a demonic halo—blurred in her vision. At times, it felt as if the light—their exit . . . their salvation—was mere inches above her head, and she had to resist the urge to reach her hand up to try and grab at the sun. Yet, at other times, it stretched and pulled—pushing to the outermost boundaries—until it appeared farther than humanly possible to obtain.

Staring upward, her mind began to drift. Breathing evenly, she felt exhausted—her eyes heavy with fatigue. She was in so much pain—mind, body, and soul—and it was becoming harder to focus on anything.

The light above her began to dance methodically in front of her eyes, and she stared at it, mesmerized. Trancelike, her eyes began to roll slightly.

If she could just shut her eyes for a brief moment . . . then the pain in her head would stop and she could think clearly.

Waves of tranquility started to wash over her, and she didn't fight them.

The light above her was no longer a reminder of something bad . . . instead, it was a comfort, and she watched it in fascination, silently asking it to take her away.

There was a sudden rustling sound to her right, and Hermione reluctantly tore her eyes from the dancing light. Slowly, she let her head fall to the side so she could see.

Draco was struggling to stand.

Already, Hermione had forgotten that he was with her.

He was almost 20 feet away, breathing in pain on his hands and knees. His cloak was dirty, a strip torn from his waist to the hem. The material dripped with liquid, and Hermione could make out the gathered moisture that he had unceremoniously landed in. His sleek, blonde hair was mussed, falling messily in his eyes. Dirt looked out of place streaked across his right cheek. And a line of dried blood trailed from his nostril to his lip, contrasting gruesomely against his porcelain skin.

It was almost dreamlike as, unmoving, Hermione watched Draco. Carefully, he moved his right foot from beneath his body and positioned it flat on the ground in front of him. Then, pressing his hand on his knee, he pushed himself up with pained effort.

After resting briefly, he attempted to take a step, but cried out in pain as soon as his left foot connected with the floor. Swearing loudly, he jerked his foot back as if the earth was scalding. The movement caused him to stumble, and he reached out blindly for something to steady himself. When his hand met nothing, he fell forward—hard—onto his hands and knees again. Lowering his head in anger, he released a primal scream inches above the dirt.

The sound reverberated loudly off the walls, and Hermione shrunk back in pain as her head throbbed between her temples.

Keeping her eyes squeezed shut she waited for the ache to retreat.

When she was finally able to open them again, she noted that Draco was once again on his feet, but was standing shakily, and bizarrely like a flamingo—with his left foot tucked up underneath his body to keep the weight off.

Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to moisten her tongue. "Are you alright?"

Her voice was soft and sounded weird in her head.

Draco jumped slightly at the sound and instantly jerked his head in her direction. As their eyes connected, a look of pure malice covered his face. "Do I bloody look alright?!"

Hermione shut her eyes in pain and breathed evenly through her nose. She could hear Draco struggling to move—swearing and mumbling under his breath.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione slowly pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her head was swimming, and she had to pause before continuing. Carefully—ignoring the pain—she sat up. It took all of her strength, and as soon as she was fully erect, she swayed dangerously. It took all of her effort to remain upright and not crumble back to the floor—even though that's what her body was screaming to do.

Draco stumbled once more—kicking rocks noisily across the floor—and hissed in pain.  
Hermione opened his eyes just as he steadied himself. "Do you need help?"

"From you? Right." Draco scoffed and continued his shuffling movement forward.

"It's better than no help at all."

"You know, I wouldn't _need _any help at all if it weren't for you!"

Hermione's eyes widened. Suddenly, she forgot about the pain in her head as anger boiled through her veins. "_Me?!_"

Draco had somehow made it to a boulder and was now leaning his hand against it, resting from his exertions. "Yes, _you_." His words dripped with venom. "If you have acted like such a child by throwing that fucking rock . . ."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Oh, _I_ acted like a child?! We shouldn't even be here in the first place. But, _you're_ the one who just _had _to go your own way!"

"And _you're_ the one who just wouldn't let me go!"

Hermione clenched her jaw. Angrily, she took a deep breath before speaking again. "You know what, Malfoy? I wish I would have let you go!"

"So do I! Then, I wouldn't be stuck down here with a goddamned Mudblood."

Draco was yelling and Hermione's head was beginning to pound again. Shutting her eyes, she turned her head away from him.

Taking a breath, she sighed heavily. "Malfoy, this is pointless . . . . Just shoot up red sparks and we can put this whole thing behind us."

Carefully, she cupped her forehead in her hand, trying to sooth the ache she felt between her temples. And it was only at that moment that she realized that her hair was wet—matted to her forehead. At first, she thought that she had landed in some sort of puddle as well, but as her thumb gently slipped over the liquid that originated from her hairline, she realized with sickening comprehension that it was far too sticky to be water.

She felt dizzy—nauseous. Carefully, she wiped at the side of her head before pulling her hand from her forehead.

Slowly, she turned her palm toward her body—positioning it in the quickly dimming sunlight—until she could see what covered it. In shock, she stared blankly at her hand, her heart beating wildly in her chest. And then her stomach twisted as she registered the thick, coagulated blood that painted her light skin red.

Hermione began to hyperventilate.

It looked so dark . . . and suddenly, the coppery smell of blood wafted up to her nose.

She choked back the bile that threatened up her throat.

She was dizzy . . . her vision beginning to blur.

Realization hit her abruptly like a ton of bricks and she although the sight of blood never bothered her before, she suddenly wasn't able to handle it. Panic welled up in her chest and frantically, she rubbed her hand across her cloak, her robes, her shirt . . . anything to wash away the blood on her hand.

She could feel blood slowly trickling down her cheek.

Bringing her arm up, she scrubbed her face against her bicep.

But, she could still feel it on her skin.

Hysterically, she began to wipe her hands over her face, trying to erase any signs of the offensive substance.

Finally, her frantic movements ceased, yet her hands remained glued tightly over her face. Panting, she slowly rocked back and forth, whimpering quietly.

"Did you hear me?" Draco sounded annoyed and very far away.

Hermione stopped rocking and slowly spread her fingers. Keeping her hands on her face, she stared at Draco through the cracks. "What?"

"I _said_: I can't find my wand. You'll have to do it."

Hermione's heart plummeted in her chest.

Suddenly, she found it very hard to breathe again as she sat frozen on the floor, her hands stuck to her face.

Seconds ticked by in silence.

Finally, Draco cleared his throat irritably. "Um . . . Earth to Granger. I didn't realize red sparks were too advanced for you."

"I don't have my wand either." She could hardly muster a whisper.

Draco pushed himself from his rock wall and raised an incredulous eyebrow at her. "What?"

Hermione's hands dropped lifelessly into her lap. "I lost it . . . when we fell."

"So, you mean to tell me . . . we're stuck down here . . ." Draco gestured wildly, "_without _our wands . . ."

Hermione nodded wordlessly.

"FUCK!"

Hermione jumped at Draco's sudden outburst and a burst of fear flowed through her.

Draco ignored her and continued his rant: "Oh yeah . . . this is great. This is just _fucking _GREAT! The sun is already setting. We have no food, no water, no shelter . . . and now, _no_ way of making any . . . ."

He had started to pace. Well, he _attempted _to pace, but taking his injured foot into account, it was more like a limping shuffle.

Silently fuming, Draco ran an angry hand through his hair. "Oh, and let's not forget, _nobody_ knows where we are!"

Hermione eyes narrowed as anger scorched through her once more. "And whose fault is that?"

Draco skidded to a halt, heat radiating from his silver eyes. "Do you _really_ want to do this again?"

Hermione felt a flush rush to her cheeks and quickly averted his glare by looking down at the ground. "I'm just saying . . . we should have followed the map."

Draco growled low in his chest and Hermione cowered.

An uncomfortable silence filled the space.

With a sigh, Draco finally tore his eyes from her and slowly slid down the boulder and sat heavily on the floor. Cradling his head in his hands, he sat in silence.

Slowly, Hermione lifted her eyes. They fell upon his hunched frame, and silently she studied him. He looked small, young,—weak even—and it scared her. He was supposed to be the strong one . . . and if he couldn't be that now . . . .

She didn't want to think about it.

Hastily, she turned her eyes from him and froze when she finally took in their surroundings.

They were sitting in the center of a large cave-like hollow. It encompassed them like a sphere, almost closing above their heads, save the small hole that they fell through. Staring straight up, she tried to assess the distance. The small amount of sunlight seemed to originated around 100 feet above her head and, with a sudden sense of dread, she realized there was no humanly way of getting back up to it.

Tearing her eyes from the light source, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness before slowly taking in the rest of their surroundings. The cavern was approximately 50 feet wide and flat, vacant of everything except a scattering of random boulders—Hermione realized with sickening reality—they were both _very _lucky not to hit as they landed.

Looking to her right, she noticed a small, shallow puddle of condensed liquid. Shifting her eyes, she realized that nearly identical puddles were formed all over the floor. Reaching out, she dipped her fingers in the fluid and brought it to her lips. As soon as she tasted it, however, she spit it out in disgust. The water was tainted with the cave's bottom. It was dirty—undrinkable.

The sun had shifted in the sky once more, and it was quickly becoming increasing difficult to see. Squinting through the murkiness, Hermione noted darkened spots along the perimeter of their prison. Leaning forward, she stared in confusion, trying to make any sense of them.

"Malfoy?" Hermione's voice was hesitant.

Draco sat, unmoving, his head still in his hands.

Quietly, Hermione cleared her throat before speaking louder. "Um . . . Malfoy?"

"What?" His annoyed response was muffled from behind his fingers.

"What are those . . . over there?"

Draco peeled his hands from his face and glanced over to where she was looking. "How the hell should I know?"

Hermione shook her head. "No . . . I'm serious."

Gently, she stretched forward onto her hands and knees. Painfully, she crawled forward a few feet. "I think . . . are those tunnels?"

Draco rubbed at his temple tiredly. "So what if they are?"

"Well . . . don't you think we should check them out?"

Draco waved an absentminded hand. "Knock yourself out."

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "You're not coming?"

"Nope."

"But . . . why?"

Draco's mouth hardened. "What's the matter, Granger? Need me to hold your hand?"

Hermione glared at him. "No."

"Then, go."

Hermione glowered in his direction, but bit her tongue.

Angrily, she rocked back onto her heels. Using her hands, she pushed off the ground and rolled up onto her feet. Her body screamed in pain, but she hardly felt it though the absolute contempt she felt for Draco. Taking a breath, she took a confident step forward.

Her head swam—the room blurring in front of her.

Dizzy, she stumbled, and reached out for anything to steady herself.

"Sure you don't need that hand?" Draco's voice was sarcastic.

Lifting her chin, Hermione gathered her strength and took a second step. "Piss off, Malfoy."

Focusing, she slowly made her way toward the darkened tunnels.

They were at most only 30 feet away, yet they seemed impossibly far away. But, there was no way she was stopping now—not with Draco watching her every movement.

So, struggling, she forced her feet to move—one in front of the other—until she was finally in front of two openings that were hardly taller than she was.

Her heart was fluttering against her ribcage as she turned her eyes first from one, then to the other.

In one final attempt, she turned back toward Draco.

He was still sitting on the ground, his hands draped lazily at the wrists over his raised knees, watching her.

"You're really not coming?" Hermione pressed her hands to her hips.

Draco sighed dramatically. "I really hate repeating myself . . ."

"I just don't understand why you—"

"Look, I'm not going okay?" Draco's voice rose angrily. "Besides, I don't need to go feeling my way down some dark, disgusting, probably rat-infested dead end."

Hermione's mouth went dry, but she forced her voice stayed strong. "And what makes you say that?"

"Because my father's coming."

Hermione snorted. "What makes you so confident?"

Draco's eyes darkened defensively. "Because he is. He's probably on his way already . . . so, just go."

Hermione clenched her jaw but didn't press the issue anymore. Turning, she studied the two entrances again.

Her eyes shifted from left to right, as she attempted to figure out which one was her better option. Finally, she decided on the left one and took a step.

"You do realize that you're wasting your time, though. Don't you?" Draco's nonchalant voice shattered the silence once more.

Hermione stopped mid-step and turned irritably. "And what makes you say that?"

"You have no wand." Draco glanced up toward the small opening of sky. "And the sun is almost gone. You won't be able to see enough to find anything . . . that is, if there even _is_ anything to find."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't know that. If you help, we can search twice the area. And if we find even _one _of our wands, it won't matter that the sun is gone."

As the words spilled from her mouth, she felt weak as she realized that her anger was quickly being replaced with pleading.

"I already told you . . . I'm not moving until my father comes."

"You're unbelievable."

Draco pressed his knuckle gently beneath his nose and inspected it briefly before turning his icy glare back to her. "So I've been told."

Hermione felt angry tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Pulling back her shoulders, she took a confident step toward the left tunnel.

"You're not going to find anything." Draco's voice was hard, yet there was a hint of laughter—mockery—behind his words.

Hermione glared at him. "Oh, I will . . . and when I do, I'm not coming back."

"Am I supposed to be scared?"

Angrily, she pointed her finger toward him. "I'm _not_ coming back."

"I can only be so lucky."

A single tear fell from Hermione's eye and she turned quickly before he could see it reflecting in the dimming light.

Without another thought, she turned and disappeared into the murkiness of the tunnel.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, she had to pause. It was darker in there—darker than she anticipated—and she had to wait for her eyes to adjust.

Patiently, she waited, but her eyes remained unfocused. Blindly, she stared into the obscurity until her head began to swim from the strain.

The adrenaline she had felt with Draco was quickly subsiding, and pain was quickly taking its place.

But, she was determined not to let Draco win.

She started forward—her hands stretched out in front of her—trying to feel her way down the depths of the tunnel.

Yet, her fingertips only hit air.

She was dizzy and felt sick.

Slowly, she moved deeper, her feet shuffling in front of her.

Bile rose in her throat and she had to fight it back down. Breathing heavily, she leaned on her knees. Rotating her head, she looked behind her. She could hardly make out the small opening that lead back to the cave—and Draco.

_Draco_.

Torn, she looked to the darkness and then back toward the small hint of light.

She didn't want Draco to win, but this was suicidal. He was right. She couldn't see anything . . . and it wasn't going to get any better if she tried to move forward.

There was a greater chance that she would get lost . . . or hurt . . . or both before she found a way out.

Tomorrow was another day . . . with sunlight . . . and potentially with a wand.

Her head throbbed and she swayed dangerously.

There was only one option: She had to swallow her pride and make her way back toward the openness of the cave. It was the only way she would be able to survive through the night.

Decidedly, she turned and boldly walked toward the entrance.

Although the sun was setting quickly, Hermione still blinked in pain as she reentered the cave.

Draco looked up in surprise when he heard her feet shuffle across the ground.

Slowly, a victorious smirk crossed his face. "I thought you 'weren't coming back?'"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"No, seriously . . . shouldn't you be back at the castle by now . . . wand in hand . . . letting me rot down here alone?"

Hermione passed him and crossed to the opposite side of the cave. Haughtily, she sat down on the ground and brought her knees up to her chest. "I hope you freeze."

Draco laughed. "Unlikely."

"Oh yeah. That's right. Someone whose heart is already made of ice can't possibly freeze."

"Damn straight."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm done talking to you, Malfoy. So, why don't you do us both a favor and just go to sleep."

"You first."

Hermione wanted to argue, but her head was beginning to pound again. And, although it felt like Draco was winning again, she had to admit that lying down sounded awfully good.

So, turning her back to Draco, she ignored his hostile glare and gingerly lowered herself to the ground. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her, she bent her arm under her head and attempted to get comfortable.

And as the final rays of sun disappeared from the sky, cloaking their prison in darkness, she finally closed her eyes and slipped silently into a painless oblivion.


	3. Body Heat

**Chapter 3:**

**Body Heat**

Hermione woke with a start. It was unnaturally dark and she was disoriented.

Her head was pounding and she curled more tightly around herself.

Her body immediately screamed in protest.

She was stiff and sore and she was having trouble understanding why.

Her stomach growled violently—she felt hollow inside, as if she hadn't eaten in days.

She felt cold—almost numb.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she licked her dry lips and tried to go back to sleep.

But the ground was too hard. Her body hurt too much. And she was so cold . . . .

_Why_?

And it was at that exact instant that everything came rushing back: Walking through the Forbidden Forest, fighting with Draco, falling . . . .

Her eyes snapped open as adrenaline filled her veins. She was curled tightly on her side—her arm dead beneath her head—but it was too dark to see anything in front of her.

Stupidly, she wondered what time it was.

Her face felt funny. It tingled and felt surprisingly wet.

She didn't want to move—she was too cold and it was too much work.

But finally, her curiosity won.

With her eyes still shut, she carefully rolled onto her back. Her robes crackled lightly with her movement in the night air, and Hermione's heart began to beat frantically inside of her chest.

_They aren't supposed to do that._

Taking a deep breath, Hermione slowly allowed her eyes to open. Blindly, she stared into the murky oblivion. She tried to gauge a distance, but couldn't. The blackness seemed to go on forever . . . like some demonic space odyssey. At some point during the night, the sky had clouded over—erasing any evidence of the hole that she and Draco had fallen through.

Any evidence except the small, white flakes that were now falling slowly from the seemingly nonexistent sky.

There was slight wind, which allowed the flakes to encompass the entire area—as if, miraculously, there was an open sky above them and not rock and dirt.

Hermione stared upward, hypnotized. The snow landed gently on her face, but she didn't even blink. She couldn't. She was too enrapt by the snowflakes' graceful journey to the cave's floor. They swirled and danced around each other, traveling with elegance and beauty—like a ballerina.

Absentmindedly, she picked out a single snowflake. Keeping her eyes trained on it, she watched as it fell lazily from the sky. Her eyes moved back and forth, following its path, as it got lower and lower.

Finally, it landed gently on the ground by her hand and immediately disappeared.

And suddenly, Hermione wasn't caught in the snow's captivating trance anymore.

A light dusting of snow was already present. It covered the ground—sticking to the boulders, her clothing, her exposed skin . . . .

Painfully, she sat up. Lights exploded in front of her eyes as her head spun.

She exhaled heavily and her breath materialized in front of her in a thick white cloud.

She turned her head and snow fell softly from her hair.

Dazed, she fingered a lock of her tresses. More snow fell gently to the ground.

She pressed her palm to the side of her head. Her hair was thick with snow—heavy and wet. Beneath the heat of her hand, the snow began to melt and a thin line of cold water was suddenly dripping beneath the collar of her shirt.

Hermione gasped as the offensive liquid hit her hot skin. She trembled as it trickled down her spine until it disappeared into the material of her skirt's waistband.

Her teeth chattered loudly, and she was suddenly aware that she had already been shivering.

Her heart began to race again.

Frantically, she brushed at her head with her hands. Snow fell in torrents around her.

And then she realized something:

She couldn't feel her fingers.

Terrified, she stared at her hands, but she could only see a vague outline of them through the darkness.

Cautiously, she poked at them.

They felt fat—thick—and the sensation was odd. She could feel the pressure of the prodding, but it was muted—as if she were attempting to push through layers of dense material.

Shaking, she cupped her hands around her mouth and blew into them. As her hot breath came in contact, her hands began to burn and she grimaced. She adjusted her hands over her mouth and her fingertips brushed her nose—it too lacked most feeling.

Slowly, she stretched her fingers. Her hands tingled excruciatingly—like hundreds of pins were being thrust into her skin—and she hissed in pain.

Carefully, she curled and straightened her fingers, until blood flow increased to her extremities and the stinging subsided somewhat.

Placing her palms on either side of her face, she cautiously smoothed her fingers over her face, mentally diagnosing how each part felt.

Her cheeks were cold, but even so, she had no problem feeling her fingers moving gently over them.

Her nose felt like her fingers—thick and with little-to-no sensation.

But it was her ears that made her heart flutter even harder against her ribcage.

It physically hurt to touch them.

Lightly, she tapped at them, gasping in pain each time her fingers connected with her flesh.

Taking a deep breath, she didn't even think. Instead, she quickly slid her hands up and pressed her palms tightly against each ear. They erupted in fire, sending pain shooting behind her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she resisted the urge to remove her hands. Breathing heavily through her nose, she counted slowly in her head until she began to regain some sensation in the outermost ridges her ears.

Her head throbbed painfully in time with her heart.

Removing her hands, she hastily brushed the snow from her cloak. Ducking her head toward her shoulders, she pulled the material up over her ears. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her body and face, she sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, attempting to utilize her body heat. Her breath swirled under the fabric and slowly began to warm her face and hands.

Yet, it was only when she was gradually beginning to warm that she was finally able to tell how cold she truly was.

She shivered violently, her core tightening painfully. Stubbornly, she clenched her jaw, stopping her teeth from clashing together.

Panting, she attempted to stop her body from shaking. She dropped her head onto her knees and crossed her arms tightly across her chest—her hands clenched tightly into fists underneath her armpits.

Her stomach rumbled again and she moaned. Breathing through her nose, she focused on regulating her breathing.

Eventually, she began to breathe evenly. With her face pressed against her knees, her hands pulled close to her body, and her cloak wrapped tightly around her, she was finally beginning to feel some warmth. The violent tremors that shook her body were subsiding at last, and her eyes were once more growing heavy.

Slowly, she let her mind begin to wander—praying that her thoughts would be able to take her away from the Hell she was experiencing.

She concentrated on breathing in and out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

She heard a hitch in her breathing and it threw her off. Scrunching her eyes, she tried to regain her pattern.

In.

Out.

In.

She heard the hitch again.

With her eyes still closed, Hermione held her breath and listened intently.

She could hear a breathing pattern, but it fluctuated from her own. Hers was even and deep. This one was shallow and staccato—this one was labored.

Her mind was suddenly racing back to the present.

Lifting her head, she stared blindly into the darkness. Her eyes were wide, attempting to make out anything as she stared in the direction of the strained breathing.

"Ma—" Her mouth and lips were too dry and she began to cough—cutting off her words.

Composing herself, she swallowed thickly before trying again.

"M-Malfoy?"

Her gentle voice was almost inaudible.

She cleared her throat.

"Malfoy?"

Her voice was stronger but an echo bouncing lightly back at her was her only response.

Her stomach plummeted.

"Malfoy? Would you please answer me?"

It was eerily quiet. Straining her ears, she listened intently. But no matter how hard she tried, she was only rewarded with Draco's erratic breathing.

Her mouth dried even more.

She moved quickly—too quickly—and her cloak twisted around her legs. Clumsily, she fell forward onto her hands and knees. Ignoring the painful prickling sensation in her body, she kicked her feet jerkily to free her legs.

Finally, she was able to release herself from the confinement of the bountiful material.

Using her hands, she pushed herself awkwardly to her feet. Her head swam with the sudden movement, and she had pause momentarily to regain her balance.

She took a hesitant step forward.

She couldn't feel her feet.

They were completely frozen—dead, thick masses in her shoes—and as soon as she shifted her weight, her ankle gave out.

Gasping, she stumbled; fell; and cried out as her kneecaps slammed into the snow-covered ground.

Tears formed in her eyes. Breathing through her nose, she tried to ignore the sheering bolts of pain that were throbbing metrically through her numbed legs.

Draco coughed suddenly—a dry, wheezing cough—and Hermione instantaneously forgot about her own suffering.

Gingerly, she transferred her weight to her hip. At first, she tried to use her feet to propel herself forward. But, it hurt to bend her knees. And the sudden pressure put on her feet made them sting and she couldn't feel the ground through the ache.

Curling her fingers into claws, she began to pull herself forward. It was a slow process. Her body was slow to respond—virtually dead weight—and dragged behind her sluggishly. She snow that covered the ground now covered her fingers and they tingled glaringly, but she disregarded it.

Little by little, she moved across the floor.

Without the moon, it was impossible to see. She had no clue where Draco was and had to rely solely on her ears to follow the strain of his breathing.

But soon, she was panting, and her heart was beating loudly in her ears. Her arms were beginning to shake from exertion. She knew she had to be close, but she couldn't hear him anymore over the sounds of her own body.

Shutting her eyes, she stopped moving. She stared, unseeing, into the darkness, urging her eyes to adjust to the gloom, but they never did.

She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know if she was moving in the right direction.

She could feel a lump beginning to form in her throat and she swallowed around it. Tipping her head to the sky, she tried to put a damper on the emotions she was feeling. Getting emotional would only make the situation worse.

Breathing evenly, she dropped her head to her chest and patiently waited until her heart rate slowed.

And while she waited, she prayed.

She didn't quite know exactly who she was praying to, but silently she pleaded with some invisible entity to send any form of help—because it was quickly becoming abundantly clear that there was a steadily increasing chance that one, or both of them, could die down here.

When she had calmed herself, she reopened her eyes and blinked in surprise. Murky shadows—shadows that weren't there before—were slowly coming into focus. Looking toward the sky once more, a wave of relief washed over her. There was a sudden break in the clouds and bright moonlight was streaming through. Beams of light streamed through the small opening in the earth and illuminated various areas of the cave.

The brightness wasn't much and Hermione was suddenly terrified that it would go away as quickly as it had come. Her eyes wide, she quickly took in her surroundings, silently willing her eyes to adjust faster.

Gradually, she could make out the rounded mounds of the assorted boulders. Shifting her eyes, she meticulously observed each mass—until she noted a shape unlike the others.

_Draco._

Impulsively, Hermione pushed herself onto her hands and knees and, ignoring the searing pain in her kneecaps, frenziedly began to crawl.

Her heart beat frantically in her chest. Breathing heavily, she could feel blood pumping rapidly through her veins, significantly warming her core and stretching toward her extremities.

She covered the remaining distance and by the time she reached Draco, she was sweating lightly from her exertions.

Draco was lying on his back, his cloak open and doing a poor job of granting him any extra warmth. A faint dusting of snow covered his clothing and hair.

His face was turned upward—damp with melted snow. With his eyes shut, he looked like he was sleeping peacefully, yet something wasn't quite right: His eyelids were fluttering restlessly, his eyes rolled back in his head.

In the soft moonlight, his skin appeared luminescent—paler than usual. His mouth was slack and he was panting lightly—his irregular breathing creating soft puffs of white above his face.

Anxiously, Hermione's hands hovered above his still form, momentarily fearful to touch him. Shaking, her fingers drifted over the length of his body before hesitantly coming to rest very lightly on his chest.

His robes crackled lightly under her touch—crystallized—and Hermione jerked her hand back with a gasp. Suddenly, she remembered the water dripping from his robes when she had first woken up—the result of one of the ill placed puddles that existed intermittently across the floor—and now . . . it was so cold . . . .

_So cold . . . ._

Panic set it and suddenly her irrational fear of touching him vanished.

Swiftly, she laid her palm on his cheek. His skin was unnaturally icy and Hermione felt the lump reappear in her throat.

Her mind was swimming as her fingers dropped from his face to his neck. Holding her breath, she pressed her fingers underneath his jawline. His heart beat faintly against her fingertips, slow and weak.

She released the breath she had been holding in a shaky _whoosh_. Despairingly, her hand fell from his neck and landed lifelessly back on his chest. She could feel him shivering—

_Or was _she _the one who was shivering?_

—and she finally felt utterly helpless.

_They were going to die down here . . . _

The thought was suddenly in her head yet she was only fully aware of it when she felt a solitary tear roll down her cheek.

That was enough of a wake up call for her.

Hastily, she wiped it away and forced herself to focus. She wasn't going to die down here . . . and neither was Draco.

Her head was pounding, but she fought through the pain. Shutting her eyes, she prioritized Draco's symptoms and began to rifle through all of the pointless facts that she had stored in her brain over the years.

_Shivering, shallow breathing, weak pulse, unconsciousness._

_Cold . . . so cold . . . ._

Her eyes snapped open.

_Hypothermia._

Her eyes traveled over his body. The solution was so simple: He needed dry clothes, blankets, warm liquids . . . but they didn't have any of that.

They didn't even have their wands.

_Think, Hermione, think._

She needed to get him out of his damp clothing, but she also needed to regulate his body temperature.

The answer abruptly came to her.

_Shared body heat._

She didn't have time to feel embarrassed. Hurriedly her fingers began to work the buttons of Draco's shirt.

But her fingers were once more beginning to freeze and it was proving more difficult than she anticipated. But finally, she opened the last one.

Carefully she peeled it from his arms and, turning his body this way then that, slowly worked it out from around his body.

His chest seemed to glow in the dim light.

Promptly, Hermione tore her cloak from around her neck and draped it over his body.

Within seconds, his damp pants were removed and she threw them to the side.

She then turned her attention to her own clothing.

With each button that she unfastened, she gasped as the frigid night air hit her exposed skin until she finally slid the shirt from her arms. Tossing it to the side she sat, shivering, clad only in her flimsy bra—her teeth chattering loudly.

Clenching her hands into fists, she crossed her arms over uncovered core and scooted her body closer to Draco's.

Lifting the cloak, she quickly crawled under and nestled up to Draco's body. His skin was ice cold and it caused her to struggle for breath.

Carefully, she pulled the cloak around them, and tucked it tightly underneath their bodies. Covering their heads with the material, she wrapped her arms snugly around Draco's waist—pressing her chest and stomach against his—and twisted her legs through his.

He trembled violently under her touch, and Hermione could feel the tears reappear in her eyes. Nuzzling her face into his neck, she focused on taking slow, even breaths. Her breath was hot and moist, and slowly it began to warm her face.

She didn't know how long they laid there—with her arms pulling Draco tightly against her—but gradually, she could feel his trembling beginning to subside. Warm air circulated around them, and as Draco's breathing became more stable, Hermione could feel her eyes growing heavy once more.

Moving her head, she pressed her ear against his chest. His skin was warmer and she focused on the sound of his heart. It beat steadily—not strong . . . but stronger than before—and Hermione took comfort in the rhythm.

And it was to the sound of his steadily beating heart—with her arms wrapped tightly around him, and her head nestled into his chest—that she finally drifted off into sleep.


	4. A Rude Awakening

_A/N: Thanks SO much for the great response to the last chapter! ____ You make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. __**Just a quick disclaimer**__: There is going to be some strong language in this chapter, cuz things are going to start heating up (since you know I just can't help myself *wicked laughter*). I mean not to offend, but the realist in me says that it just needs to happen. So, please, don't hate me . . . hate reality. _

**Chapter 4:**

**A Rude Awakening**

Hermione was dreaming.

_She was lying in the soft grass on the shores of the Lake that existed just outside Hogwarts' walls. _

_She was warm. _

_The sun was shining._

_Lazily—her eyes shut—she ran her fingers through the blades, smiling as they lightly tickled her palm. Quietly, she savored the serenity. She was comfortable, and the sound of the waves breaking gently mixed with the smell of fresh flowers and trees was making her tired._

_The wind blew gently. It caressed her skin and mussed her hair. _

_She sighed contently._

_The nightmare was over. She was no longer trapped in that Godforsaken hole with Draco. _

_She didn't exactly know how she had gotten here but frankly, she didn't care. The only thing that she cared about was that she was out, and no longer hurting._

_She was no longer sore, and tired, and hungry, and cold._

_She was warm._

_The sun was shining._

_She hadn't even seen her friends yet, to let them know that she was alright. _

_They were probably worried. Probably even be searching for her at that exact moment. But she was so comfortable. She never wanted to move from that peaceful spot by the Lake—slowly soaking in the sun's rays; never wanted open her eyes again; never wanted to leave the warmth and tranquility._

_She was warm._

_The sun was shining._

_She heard movement. _

_Reluctantly, she cracked an eyelid. A smile stretched over her face. As if some higher power had heard her thoughts, Harry and Ron were slowly making their way across the green toward her. _

_She sat up, and for the first time in days, her head didn't swim. She didn't feel nauseous. She only felt undiluted joy surging through her. _

_Ron noticed her first. A large, goofy grin covered his face—his eyes bright with excitement. Taking larger steps, he crossed the remaining distance swiftly, grabbed her arms, drew her to her feet, and pulled her into his chest._

_She melted into him, relishing in the human contact. _

"_We've been looking everywhere for you." His voice was huskier than usual, and Hermione felt tears forming in the corner of her eyes._

_Briefly, his arms tightened around her as he squeezed her once more. Then, relaxing, he allowed his arms to drop to his sides. _

_Hermione smiled up at her friend and quickly brushed her fingertips below her eyes._

_Shifting her gaze, she suddenly observed Harry standing a few feet away and it took all of her power to resist running into his arms._

_Taking two wide steps, she came to him and threw her arms around his body. _

_Harry hugged her close. She could feel his strong chest pressing against her; his skin, soft against her face as he whispered quietly into her ear; his arms as they tightened around her. _

_She was warm._

_The sun was shining._

_She closed her eyes and snuggled into his warmth. She could feel his heart beat—strong and rhythmic—keeping time with hers. She inhaled his scent—clean and masculine—and reveled in the familiarity._

_He was whispering in her ear once more, but she couldn't quite make out the words._

_Her eyes remained closed—her face pressed into his chest—but her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What?"_

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

_It was Harry's voice saying the words, and Hermione was instantly filled with hurt. She pushed herself from him and looked deeply into his green eyes. "What?"_

_Harry's face contorted in anger. His hands tightened painfully around her biceps. _

_The sun disappeared._

"_I _said_, what the HELL are you doing?!"_

_Harry was yelling and Hermione was suddenly aware of strong hands violently pushing her backwards. _

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!"

Brusquely, her body was thrown from her secure cocoon of warmth. She fell only momentarily before landing awkwardly on cold, hard rock. She squeezed her eyes shut as bolts of searing pain rifled through her body.

The grass disappeared.

The Lake disappeared.

The sun, the trees, the flowers, the warm breeze, Harry and Ron . . . all gone.

She was shivering—her teeth chattering. Immediately, she curled around herself, pulling her knees up to her chest.

Her head hurt. It was dark, but she didn't want to open her eyes.

Wrapping her arms around her torso, she concentrated on breathing evenly through her nose, waiting for the nausea—

_always the nausea_

—to subside. Her dream was slipping away like sand through her fingers. She clung to it, reaching out; attempting to hold onto any amount of warmth.

But she was cold . . . so cold.

The sun was gone.

She could hear heavy breathing—angry panting—and finally, gingerly, she allowed her eyes to open.

She was confused. Shadows danced eerily, creating things in front of her that didn't exist. She blinked once . . . twice . . . to clear her head.

Disoriented, she shifted her gaze. Rolling her eyes skyward, she paused—caught in a sudden transfixion—and stared dazedly at the broken earth above her.

The sky was overcast—looking bleak and cold—but the sun was attempting to intermittently break through. Feeble rays found their way through the clouds, illuminating small patches of the cavern.

She stared at the luminous beams, and suddenly felt very tired again.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ!

Hermione jumped violently as she was torn from her trance.

She swiveled her head, feeling disconnected from her body. She was confused again. Concentrating, she tried to piece anything together, but her mind was congested.

"You filthy, stinking Mudblood! Who gave you permission to—" Draco was struggling to sit up but suddenly his words died in his throat.

Hermione's cloak had slipped from his shoulders, and he was now staring down at his bare arms in bewilderment. Bolting upright, the cloak pooled into his lap, revealing his chiseled upper body and abs.

His head snapped up furiously.

"What the hell did you do with my fucking clothes?!"

"What?" Hermione's throat was dry, and her voice was scratchy—as if she hadn't spoken in years.

"What the fuck do you mean 'WHAT?!'" His bare chest was heaving with each angered breath and its paleness almost seemed to glow—contrasting against the surrounding murkiness. "Give me back my fucking clothes, or so help me . . . ." His voice dropped threateningly.

Taking a deep breath, she dropped her head to the side. Her surroundings slowly began to focus. Rocks dusted lightly with snow, the hard, flat ground . . . .

Her eyes moved continuously, taking in everything she could . . . trying to piece any explanation together . . . and only stopped when she caught paleness out of the corner of her eye.

A flush rose in her cheeks as she suddenly became acutely aware that her upper body was also bare, save for the thin material of her bra. She also became painfully aware that she was shivering.

She sat up quickly—ignoring the screaming pain in her head—and crossed her arms tightly across her torso. Draco was glowering at her, her cloak pulled up to his shoulders once more.

_Her cloak . . ._

Immediately, as if a light switch had been flipped, everything flooding came back.

_The cave._

Their prison.

The snow . . . the cold.

Draco in dire need of help.

Gently, she covered her cheeks with her hands. She could feel dirt, grime, and dried blood under her fingers. Running her hands below her eyes, she was suddenly aware of the dried tear tracks that ran from her eyes.

_Had she been crying in her sleep?_

Turning her head, she noted several small piles of their discarded clothing—haphazardly strewn—covered in a light dusting of snow.

Her face burned for the second time in seconds—a searing disparity to the cold surrounding air—as realization hit her hard and embarrassment flooded through her body.

_Body heat . . . _

Yet, as quickly as she experienced her mortifying humiliation it dissipated, and was instantly replaced with unbridled anger.

"Or, so help you what?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to retaliate, but Hermione cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"No! You know what? I'm not exactly a monster, and I called a truce, okay? Because there was a chance that you could have _died_ last night . . . but, whatever . . . next time I just won't give a shit and I'll just let you die."

Draco's mouth snapped shut and a look appeared in his eyes—

_fear_?

—but his jaw remained strong.

Hermione tried to name the emotion that briefly crossed his face, but before she could, he rolled his eyes and it was gone.

He scoffed loudly through his nose. "Die . . . right. Just get me my fucking clothes so I can attempt to forget that this _ever_ happened."

She stared at him open mouthed. "Yes, Malfoy . . . you could have _died_! Do you even know what hypothermia is?"

She shook her head in disbelief and when she spoke again, it was almost as if she were ranting to herself. "My God, if you would just pay the _slightest _bit of attention during Muggle Studies, you would know how serious hypothermia is! Hypothermia is a condition where your body temperature—"

"Spare me the geeky details, Granger, and do something useful . . . like getting my FUCKING clothes!!" His voice rose to a painful yell that echoed eerily off the walls.

Hermione turned her head from him angrily and her eyes fell upon his shirt an arms length away. Setting her jaw, she leaned over, grabbed the crumpled up material from the floor, and threw it as hard as she could at his head.

He caught it easily with one hand, and a smug look of nonchalance crossed his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes irritably. Uncrossing her arms, she leaned forward, put her palms on the ground, and rolled up onto her knees. Opting to crawl, she carefully shuffled forward in search of her own shirt.

She moved a few feet, but suddenly—compelled by some unseen powers unbeknownst to her—she paused and looked over her shoulder.

Draco was no longer paying attention to her. Instead, he had shaken out his shirt and was now sliding it slowly over his arms.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as her eyes were once more drawn to his well defined chest. She stared—transfixed—as his muscled flexed with the insignificant movement.

She always knew that his body would be toned—he was a Seeker after all—but she never expected anything to that degree. Deep lines defined the muscles in his abs. They rippled alluringly as he swung his shirt behind his back. His arms were thick and strong, a testament to his athleticism.

He was the enemy, but there was no denying his inarguable good looks—every girl at Hogwarts would contest to that. He was brooding—with impeccable hair, startling silver eyes that changed from molten ash to chrome, and a tall strong frame. And even Hermione was guilty of considering the notion of what it could possibly be like to be with him.

But _this _had never crossed her mind . . . not even in her wildest, dirtiest dreams. This was far better.

His fingers began to work the buttons of his shirt, and as his abs were increasingly covered by the material, Hermione suddenly found it easier to breathe.

But her eyes remained motionless. She was mesmerized—frozen on her hands and knees—and lost in her own thought-filled world and unaware of her surroundings. Instead, his image lurked in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to erase it.

"Take a picture, Granger. Then, I can flex for you whenever you want." His drawl was cold—sarcastic.

Hermione snapped from her reverie—her face flushing hot and scarlet. Hastily, she turned her eyes from him and hurriedly began to search for her shirt again.

Draco scowled after her in disgust.

He was livid. She was nothing more than a filthy Mudblood—a Nobody that had absolutely no right to stare at him like that.

_Where did she get the nerve? _

He would never stoop to her level.

_Never_.

Irately, he began to search for his pants. Turning his head, he looked to one side of his body. When he saw no sign of them, he turned his attention to the other side.

His eyes fell on a wad of material that had been tossed arbitrarily aside.

Leaning over, Draco reached out to it, but his fingertips fell short by mere inches. Falling over onto his side, he groaned quietly. He was tired and sore and had no desire whatsoever of moving.

Sighing, he rolled his eyes in aggravation, but abruptly halted when his eyes fell on Hermione once more.

Still on her hands and knees, she had turned a fraction of an inch—just enough of an inch—and his eyes widened.

Let him be damned . . . she had a _body_.

Never in a million years would he have imagined that she was hiding _that _beneath her oversized robes.

Her stomach was flat and long, tapered into a narrow waist. Her hips flared slightly, curved and epicene. Crawling, her skirt left little to the imagination, and as it rose slightly up her thighs, it only accentuated her tight rounded ass and strong hamstrings. Her arms were thin, but strong—with defined muscles than ran from her shoulders to her elbows.

Draco watched, fascinated, as her shoulder blades protruded from her thin back. Her spine was long and straight, a deep crease down the middle of her back that disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt.

She moved, almost catlike yet completely feminine, her hips swaying slightly as she continued on her quest for her shirt.

Finally, her hands fell upon it.

Picking it up, she leaned back onto her heels, and as she shook the snow from the fabric, Draco's mouth went dry.

Sitting up straight and tall, Draco was finally able to get a good look at the front of her body.

Her breasts swelled on her chest—round and full—and much bigger than Draco had ever dreamed.

They were covered by the thin material of her bra and, although the bra was nothing special . . . practical and plain (just like Hermione and _nothing_ like what Draco was used to) it was the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

Her breasts ballooned slightly over the fabric, creating the perfect amount of cleavage. And as Draco's eyes roamed over her body, he came to realize that the material was nearly sheer.

His groin stirred as his eyes outlined the darkened flesh of her nipples. They were hardened into extended peaks and pushed outward against the constraining cloth. Without warning, he was suddenly thinking about what it would be to have her taut buds in his mouth—to circle his tongue around them, and to feel the weight of her breast in his hand.

But his fantasy was shattered when Hermione slowly began to slide her shirt over her arms. Abruptly—terrified of being caught ogling—Draco tore his eyes from her.

Keeping himself busy, he pulled himself over to his pants and hastily grabbed them. He could still feel his semi-hard arousal pressing through his boxers, and he didn't want Hermione to take notice of it. So, without even shaking the snow from his clothing, he slid his legs into them.

He gasped as his legs were assaulted by the cold but didn't cease. Instead, he lifted his hips and slid his pants up to his waist. Shivering, he buttoned and zipped his fly, and was relieved when he felt his erection softening.

Hermione had finished dressing and was getting to her feet laboriously. She swayed dangerously, and had to lean with her hands on her knees until she regained her balance.

She took a shaky step and held out her hand. "May I have my cloak back, please?"

Draco's scowl returned, his fantasy disappearing as quickly as a balloon popping. Balling up the material, he threw it at her feet.

She ignored his rude action, bent, picked it up, and swung it lightly over her shoulders. She was just beginning to button it at her throat when she heard Draco moving.

He was straining to get to his feet, but he was unable to put any weight on his left foot. Stumbling, he cursed loudly and reached out to steady himself.

"Do you need help?" Hermione's tone was light, nonchalant.

Draco growled low in his throat. "Fuck off."

"Suit yourself."

Determined, Draco grunted and groaned until he was finally standing and balanced precariously on one foot. Limping severely, he slowly made his way over to the wall.

Hermione tried to ignore him, but when she heard the sound of a zipper being lowered, she looked up in shock.

Draco was leaning his forearm against the wall—his forehead resting on it—his stance wide.

Hermione was appalled. "Are you _urinating_?"

Draco looked back over his shoulder. "Do you mind?"

"Do you really need to do that right here? That's disgusting!"

Draco's back was to her again. "Oh, I'm sorry . . . next time I'll make sure to use the Executive Loo."

Hermione bit her tongue and slowly counted to ten as he stared at his back.

His back was broad, thinning significantly at the waist, and the vision of his hardened chest unexpectedly swam back into her mind. She thought of his strong arms, his heat, and a flush rose in her cheeks as she was suddenly trying to imagine how large he was between his legs—what she was unable to see beneath the pooled material of her cloak.

He finished and Hermione looked toward the ground, embarrassed.

Timidly, she cleared her throat. "I think we can get a lot of area searched if we split up. We might find one, or both of our wands. Or we might find some way out through that tunnel that I started looking through last night. We really need to utilize the sun." She was still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

Draco had managed to hobble back over to his boulder. Panting, he slid down it, and rested his head against it, his eyes shut. "I'm not doing a goddamn thing."

Hermione's head snapped up. "What?"

"I'm not moving."

"Is-is it your foot? Because you could just search this open area for our wands. I mean . . . you could crawl. You can do that, right?"

Draco shook his head. "I already told you . . . my father is coming."

Hermione felt hysteria welling up in her chest. "And what if he doesn't? We can't survive down here . . ."

Draco shrugged. "He'll be here. You'll see. But, hey . . . be my guest. Play out Sherlock Holmes all you want. But I'm staying right here."

Tears stung the corners of Hermione's eyes, but she stopped them by bridling her anger. Shaking her head, she stared him down. "Fine . . . fine. Do what you want. But, I'm not going to live in your little fantasy world. One of us needs to be responsible, or we're _both_ going to die. So, if you need me, I'll be looking for a way out."

She turned on her heel, not wanting to wait for an answer. Pulling her shoulders back, she took a step toward the tunnel that she had attempted to search in the gloom of the night, but stopped before her foot even hit the ground.

The far cave wall was littered with various entrances to random tunnels.

Her breathing became heavier as her eyes scanned each opening. Some were big, others were microscopically small, but each held an infinite amount of possibilities hidden within their darkened depths.

Her heart soared with hope.

There was a great chance that some, or all of them, led outward.

But her heart suddenly plummeted.

There was just as great a chance that none of them led out. Or that there were twisted, dark corridors that led to dead ends. Twisted corridors that a single person could get lost down.

Or twisted corridors that housed beasts and dangers.

_And without a wand . . . _

She was beginning to feel overwhelmed, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

She stole a look over her shoulder. Draco was staring at her, his eyebrows knit together in confusion over his eyes.

Ignoring him, she turned and lifted her chin. If she was going to die down here, she was not going to die because she did nothing. She had to at least _try_.

Taking a deep breath, she forced the idea of beasts, monsters, darkness, and dead ends from her mind.

And, forcing her body to move forward, she entered the tunnel the furthest to the left, leaving Draco, and the light, behind her.


	5. Every Which Way But Loose

**Chapter 5:**

**Every Which Way But Loose**

"Stubborn, pigheaded prat . . . abhorrent, arrogant git . . . loathsome, self-centered little _ferret_!"

Precariously, Hermione made her way though a darkened corridor—her arms outstretched before her—mumbling darkly to herself.

She knew that she had been searching for hours, yet she was unable to pinpoint the exact time. The only thing she knew was that every time she exhausted her search in one tunnel and exited back into the light—and into the Hell that she shared with Draco—the sun had drastically changed position in the sky.

She also knew because her stomach ached tremendously, as if a large void had been hollowed out from her center. And with each twisted tunnel and dead end, the pain only got excruciatingly worse.

Miraculously, she was on her fourth tunnel—even if it felt like her thousandth. Well, miraculous in a sense that, slowly but surely, she was steadily making her way through the impossible feat of searching the innumerous tunnels. Yet, how _well_ each was searched was beyond her.

As she traveled into the deep bowels of some of the tunnels, it became impossibly dark. And, without a wand, it was near impossible to be 100% certain of her present location and that each possible exit was being searched completely. She attempted to devise a system. It was crude and possessed too many opportunities for error, but it was the best she could come up with.

Her system relied completely on memory: In the darkness, she felt for any forks within the main tunnel. When her outstretched fingers felt a break in the wall, she turned, remembering her steps back to the main tunnel—the main tunnel that would bring her back to the openness of the cavern that she had come to loathe.

She went only as far as she felt comfortable. As soon as she got far enough that darkness completely consumed her, her fears kicked in—fears of getting lost; fears of getting hurt; fears of never being able to find her way back. And it was only then, that she would turn around, moving slowly, and feel her way back toward the tunnel that she knew would lead to freedom. Well, not freedom . . . but at least, in some sense of the word, _comfort._

Initially, it was easy to remember all of the twists and turns—which direction her feet turned—so she could easily backtrack. But with each passing minute, it was becoming increasingly difficult. First, some of the tunnels were incredibly complex—with forks off of forks, dark corners, and eerie twists and turns. She moved cautiously, using all of her strength to focus, but her doubts were quickly beginning to push into her subconscious and overpower her self-motivation.

Second, her memory was beginning to falter. Her head was pounding and she was having trouble remembering whether or not the last left she took was in this tunnel, or the previous one. All of her movements were blurring together—almost as if she were trapped in a dream—and it was taking more and more will power to force her feet forward.

Additionally, to make matters worse, a new anger was now ablaze within her, clouding her concentration even more.

She had reached as far as she dared within the third tunnel. Darkness had completely engulfed her and her outstretched fingers were only hitting open air. Terrified to take another step, she had quickly turned around and retreated toward the calming reassurance of the sun.

Her heart was beating sharply inside of her chest as fear prompted her imagination to run wild. Irrational thoughts had quickly filled her head, causing her nightmares to manifest in front of her, and she didn't have the strength to push them away.

Ahead in the distance, she finally saw the faint glow of the entrance, and a wave of calmness washed over her—covering her like a warm blanket.

A vision of Draco suddenly took shape in her mind, and she was suddenly embarrassed that her absurd fears had enough power over her to influence her decisions.

She stopped and—keeping her eyes trained on the pale light—took a deep, calming breath. Exhaling, she sighed as she felt her anxieties slowly begin to melt away.

She knew that she needed to compose herself. The last three times she exited one tunnel and made her way to the next, Draco watched her from his seated position on the floor. She could feel his silvery eyes boring into her back, as he if we passing judgment merely with his icy stare.

And she would be damned if she allowed him to see her possessed by fear.

Finally, she felt strong enough to gradually make her way back toward the open cavern once more.

She was tired . . . more tired than she had ever been. Her head hurt and was clogged with endless directions and turns, and the only thing she could focus on was the fact that she wanted to put a stop to this impossible feat and simply sleep.

So she had compelled her feet to move. Slowly, but surely, her feet inched forward, and—slowly, but surely—the light at the end of the tunnel loomed nearer. And suddenly, it was in front of her . . . only inches away.

A calming sense of relief had washed over her—like a weight had miraculously been lifted from her shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she had taken that final step.

The step into the light.

Blinking, she had entered the large hollow but as soon as her eyes adjusted, her recent sense of peace dissipated and fury raged within her.

Draco hadn't moved . . . .

And he was fast asleep.

He didn't give a damn about her . . . didn't give a damn that she was risking her safety, risking her health, hell, risking her mental _sanity_, all to save him.

He hadn't done a thing . . . hadn't tried to do _anything_ productive . . . hadn't tried to look for their wands, or water, or food . . . hadn't tried to make shelter . . . he hadn't tried to help at all. He just left the weight of _their_ survival on her shoulders.

Well, if that's how he wanted to be . . . .

Stubborn determination had filled her and suddenly, she wasn't tired anymore. She was furious.

Suddenly, she wasn't so tired anymore. And she didn't even want to _look_ at him anymore, because frankly, the very sight of him was making her sick.

Well, she could be just as selfish as he was.

Fuck him. He could fend for himself. She just didn't give a damn about him anymore. She was going to find her own way out . . . even if it killed her. She was sick of protecting him . . . sick of letting him weigh her down . . . sick of doing all of the work.

Clenching her jaw—her mind blank of all logical reasoning—she had abruptly changed course—turning on her heel—and entered the fourth tunnel.

So, there she was . . . mumbling angrily to herself as she cautiously made her way deeper and deeper into the darkness.

With her arms stretched out before her, her fingers felt the first tunnel break off toward the left. Turning, she entered the new corridor. The new angle caused the light to almost instantaneously disappear—dimming her surrounding to an impossible degree.

She paused only slightly to allow her eyes to adjust. The logic that she had hidden away screamed from the back of her subconscious. She knew that she should stop longer—let her eyes fully adjust . . . think things through more thoroughly—but she pushed the nagging sensation from her mind.

It was anger that now fueled her movements. Anger and nothing else.

And it was that anger that coerced her to continue blindly through the darkness, steadily leaving the light (and Draco), far behind her.

******************************************

Draco heard her reenter the cave, he just didn't care.

Keeping his eyes closed, he leaned his head against the boulder he was resting on. Breathing evenly, he listened as Hermione's footsteps approached, then abruptly stopped.

An eerie silence surrounded him, but he refused to let his eyes open. Instead, he sat silently, straining his ears. He could hear her breathing through her nose a few yards away; quiet, yet sharp—angry—and a vision of her disgusted face swam into his mind.

The corner of his mouth twitched—pulling upward into a slight smirk—and he had to focus to void his face of all emotion.

He could feel her staring heatedly at him—as if she were attempting to bore a hole into the side of his face with her eyes—but he didn't move. He wasn't about to give her the satisfaction.

A sudden sound shattered the stillness—a brusque scraping of shoes against rock—as Hermione shifted her weight and spun on her heel.

And then she was moving steadily away—her footsteps growing fainter.

Draco furrowed his brow, confused at her abrupt change of heart, but it only took a few seconds before he realized that he just didn't give a flying fuck.

Relaxing, he focused on his breathing—attempting to slip into the serene depths of unconsciousness. He was tired—exhausted—and all he wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn't.

He couldn't seem to get comfortable. He had tried everything he could think of: lying, sitting up, reclining slightly, legs stretched, legs bent, but nothing worked. He was sore—his back and neck tight.

And his ankle throbbed.

Shortly after Hermione had left him secluded in the large open cavern, he had painfully pushed himself standing once more. He _needed_ to find one of their wands . . . he couldn't go another night without one.

So, significantly limping, he had slowly shuffled the perimeter, looking for any hint of polished wood.

He searched until his toes went numb—until the only thing he could feel was a thick throbbing that rippled through his foot.

He searched until shooting pain caused tears to spring to his eyes.

He searched until he could no longer apply even the slightest ounce of weight on his foot.

And it was only then—with a heavy heart and a feeling of utter failure—that he grit his teeth through the pain and laboriously hobbled the remaining feet over to the boulder that he was now leaning on.

It took him a long time to cross the short distance, and it was with a huge sense of relief when the weight stopped pressing heavily on his foot when he finally sat heavily on the cold ground.

Lifting his pant leg, he had carefully studied the exposed flesh. His foot was noticeably swollen, distended to the point that it was stretching the leather of his shoe. The puffy, shapeless blob that was once his healthy foot, extended into an equally swollen ankle—a swollen ankle that was now a ghastly shade of bluish purple.

Gingerly, he had touched his skin, pressing gently, and instantly hissed in pain.

He had felt pain like this before. Once, when he was little, he was playing a makeshift game of Quidditch. Practicing his Seeker skills, he had gone too high, too fast, and leaned too far forward, in an attempt to snag the Snitch midair.

Yet, when his fingers closed around nothing, gravity had taken over and suddenly, he was falling forward—over the front of his broomstick. The ground rushed toward him as he plummeted, and he had no other option but to put his arms out in front of him and brace for impact.

He hit the ground hard. And as his arms connected with the earth, he heard a sickening _snap_ followed by sheering bolts of pain shooting up and down his arm. It was enough to make spots appear before his eyes and cause bile rise in his throat, and he screamed out in agony.

His arm was definitely broken, yet (even though it was torturous) it was nothing as severe as this moment—because it was nothing this long.

He was a Malfoy. And Malfoys only experienced pain as long as it took for their family physician to Apparate and fix them.

But, there was no physician here to magically fix him. There was no comfort, no healing, no nothing . . . .

Now, finally able to rest, the pain in his foot was slowly beginning to subside—diminishing down to a light ache that throbbed evenly with his heart. But, as one pain receded, another began.

Sitting on the hard ground, he was gradually becoming acutely aware of the cold seeping through his robes. The sun was moving in a continuous arc across the sky. And as it moved, it also took any remaining traces of heat with it. He shifted uncomfortably, but no matter how much he moved, he couldn't seem to get warm enough.

His fingers tingled. Curling them tightly, he brought them to his mouth and blew into his fist. Letting them drop, he held them tightly against his chest and rubbed absentmindedly at his arms.

A violent shiver rippled through his body, causing the muscles in his back to tighten more. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the material of his cloak around him. Then, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso, he gripped his ribs, trying to retain any heat.

Exhausted, he leaned his head back, resting it lightly against the boulder, and his thoughts gradually began to wander. Aimlessly, he began to think of warmer things: of tropical destinations, of warm breezes blowing through his hair, of the sun shining radiantly against his skin.

Sighing—getting lost in his thoughts—he slowly began to drift off. Drowsily, he thought of warm foods—of their scent and flavor. He thought about steamy butterbeer, and how it would feel with each swallow—how it would little by little begin to thaw him out.

His stomach growled violently, ripping him from his reverie. He had never experienced hunger pains like this . . . _ever_ . . . and it took his breath away momentarily. Gasping, he clutched at his abdomen—his eyes squeezed shut—and waited for the cramping to cease.

Finally, breathing evenly, he was able to open his eyes. His head swam. Dizzy, he blinked in an attempt to clear his head. His stomach roared at him again, and he felt hollow, yet nauseous. His head throbbed behind is eyes. He was dehydrated, he already knew that, but the incredible dryness that he was experiencing in his mouth only reiterated that.

He couldn't win. No matter what he focused on—his seemingly broken ankle, his hunger, his thirst, the cold—it was a new kind of torture. And, this torture couldn't be mercifully spread over all of his pains—thin layers of compromising middle ground that would be slightly bearable. No, each torture was one in its own . . . excruciating suffering that caused the mind to go blank of anything but what the body was experiencing at that precise moment.

Tipping his head back, Draco looked up toward the sky. The sun was shifting in the sky, sweeping steadily behind the patchy, thick clouds. It was now past the midday point, and clouds were beginning to creep in, covering the bluish sky. It would soon be dark again.

Dark and cold.

Bitterly cold.

And it was while staring at the sun, lost in the hopelessness of the impending darkness and foreshadowed cold that somehow— miraculously— exhaustion finally overtook him and Draco's eyes drooped as he finally slipped the surly bonds of consciousness and drifted into sleep.

********************************

Hermione's outstretched fingers abruptly hit a wall.

In the darkness, she felt her heart drop to her feet as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. This was the 4th dead end she had encountered, and the anger that she had felt for Draco—the anger that urged her irrationally forward—had completely vanished, and was now replaced with sheer exhaustion.

She felt stupid—letting her resentment control her actions like it did. If she had only waited a few minutes—waited until her feelings cooled—she would have realized how absurd her decision to continue with her search was. But, because she didn't, she was now at yet another dead end, cold, tired, in pain, and more than likely lost.

She knew she had been searching for a long time—going down endless corridors that twisted and turned. Yet, she had been unfocused and sloppy—her thoughts clouded by her tempter—and now, she couldn't remember exactly how she got there.

Twisting, she placed her back against the wall that her fingers had just come into contact with. She felt hopeless, and as she stood, trying to make sense in everything that was muddling her mind, she felt the tears come—hot and persistent.

As the first tear slid from the corner of her eye, she felt her legs begin to give out. Slowly, she slid down the wall. The tears were falling steadily now—built up from days of exhaustion, frustration, and pain—wetting her face as they rolled down her cheeks. Sitting on the ground, she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her lap.

She couldn't stop the sobs that wracked her body, and suddenly, she was moaning—a wail that ripped from her throat like a sick animal.

Rocking, she wept.

Grateful for the release, she harnessed the pain and wept freely. She wept for anything she could grasp.

She didn't know how long she sat on the cold hard ground, sobbing loudly. But soon, she had run out of things to cry about, and honestly couldn't even remember what had caused her to start.

At length, the tears finally began to cease, drying on her face and tightening her skin. Looking up from her legs, she blinked into the darkness and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

She was drained—absolutely exhausted—and she realized with sudden clarity that she couldn't search anymore. She needed to go back—needed to go back to the safety of the open cavern.

Needed to go back to Draco.

Her face felt grimy—streaked with dirt, blood, and now, tears. Her hands felt the ground around her body until her fingers reached what she knew was inevitably there: a shallow puddle.

Curving her hand, she scooped up some of the water in the palm of her hand and splashed it on her face. She gasped as the frigid water touched her flesh, but it also helped clear her head. Taking another handful of water, she briskly scrubbed at her skin.

Water was dripping from her jaw, but Hermione felt oddly energized—and cleaner than she had felt in days. Taking a calming breath, she pressed her hands against the ground and pushed herself to her feet.

She was stiff from sitting on the ground and her body protested. But, ignoring the tightness in her muscles and the headache that pounded violently from temple to temple, she slowly began to shuffle through the darkness, her arms outstretched.

She reached the first crossroad. She could feel open air around her hands and knew that it split to the left and to the right. And, although it was too dark to see anything, she looked both ways out of habit.

She was lost again.

In the darkness, she couldn't remember which direction she had come from. And the longer she stood there, it felt (impossibly) as if the shadows were closing in on her.

Her heart was starting to pound in her chest and she felt the fringe of hysteria edging in on her once more.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

_Think, Hermione, think_.

Before she had a chance to get her thoughts in order, she heard a sudden sound behind her. It was a scratching sound—a spine-chilling sound of something scraping against the rock.

Thoughts of beasts and monsters invaded Hermione's mind, and her eyes snapped open. Standing in the darkness, she held her breath—her heart drumming against her ribs.

She heard it again—closer this time—and she almost fainted. Her head was pounding, and for all she knew, it was simply her imagination running away with her. But she wasn't going to stay to find out.

Fear forced her into motion. Without thinking, she took a hesitant turn to the right and began walking fast, her hands outstretched.

Stumbling, she moved quickly. If her imagination wasn't the source of her fear before, it was now. No matter how fast she moved, she always felt the unidentified monster behind her—coming fast, it's hot breath almost on her neck.

She took corners rashly—even though there was a small voice in the back of her head screaming that she could be getting herself more lost. But she didn't care. She needed to get out of the darkness—needed to get away from her imagination.

She ran until she couldn't breathe. When her outstretched hands felt the openness of the next juncture, she paused, her hands on her knees, breathing hard. Her head hurt, her stomach ached, and her body was sore.

Swallowing thickly, she listened intently for any noise behind her. Silence was her only answer—and with that silence, also came rationality. She realized that she had _no_ idea where she was. She could have been running deeper into the tunnel for all she knew—_away_ from the safety she craved.

She fought the urge to cry out—to scream and yell for Draco, but she stopped herself. She could figure this out. She would have to figure it out.

Straightening, she strained her eyes through the darkness, looking first one way, then the next.

It seemed hopeless.

But suddenly, there was a faint circle of light, dancing delicately to her right. She blinked hard to refocus her eyes.

Her heart began to pound and she felt hopeful for the first time since she had fallen into their hellish prison.

She had found a way out.

Forgetting about any danger, she stumbled toward the light, her feet picking up speed with each step. And soon, she was running.

The light got bigger, only adding to her optimism. With one final burst of speed, she burst into the light.

She had to blink a few times until her surroundings focused, and immediately her eagerness disappeared.

She hadn't found a way out.

Instead, she had somehow found her way back to the main corridor. She didn't know exactly _how _she had gotten there, but she was there. She could see Draco still leaning against the boulder, his platinum hair shining in the setting sun, and she felt a small twinge of anger flare within her.

Breathing heavily, she was suddenly overcome by insatiable fatigue, erasing her irritability. Her head swimming, she shuffled forward slowly.

Not knowing why, she turned her head and looked toward Draco once more. He was asleep, his mouth slightly agape. He looked pale—sick. A heavy dread formed in the pit of her stomach, and she tipped her head skyward, not wanting to look at him anymore.

The sun was beginning to sink in the western sky. There was still time before darkness would totally consume them, but she was too tired. She needed to lie down.

Logically, it was a lost cause. There could be nothing more done that day. She would get some sleep, rest up, and begin fresh again tomorrow.

Her eyes drooping, she crossed away from Draco and gently lay down. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her cloak tightly around her body and—with thoughts of the undeniable cold that was on its way—mentally prepared herself for another night of torture.


	6. I'll Cover You

_A/N: Thank you all so much for being so patient with my lack up updates. I honestly don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this one . . . It's all in my head—I just can't get it down on paper. But, if you've made it this far, you're finally in for what you've been waiting for (and I've been promising). _Adult situations!!_ You've been asking for it . . . and you know that I couldn't possibly have a Dramione fic without it . . . cuz that's just how I roll. So, if you are not into that sort of thing, consider yourself warned. There _will _be sex in this chapter. If you have been looking for it, here it is :). Good things come to those who wait. Thank you all again and please review!_

_Without further adieu . . . ._

**Chapter 6:**

**I'll Cover You**

Hermione was dreaming.

_In the dark, her hand came in contact with the cold, hard surface of another dead-end made of rock. Blindly, she felt the wall in front of her, praying for the slightest opening to manifest under her fingertips. _

_But there was none._

_Spinning on her heel, she leaned heavily against the rock. Darkness swirled around her, attempting to swallow her whole. Taking a deep breath, she peered into the murkiness and tried to force her eyes to adjust. But they couldn't._

_Leaning her head against the wall, she tried to calm her nerves, but the unmerciful shadows were pressing, making her feel as if the walls were closing in—creating an insatiable feeling of claustrophobia. It was getting hard to breathe—the air stuffy and thick._

_It was dark. _

_It was cold._

_Her head was swimming, causing waves of nausea to ebb and flow through her body. Feeling sick, she swallowed thickly—past the lump of bile that had risen unexpectedly in her throat. She knew that she had to keep moving—needed to find a way out of this hellish nightmare—or else exhaustion would overtake her and she wouldn't be able to make it back out of the tunnel. _

_Pushing herself from the wall, her feet slowly began to shuffle forward—back down the path she had just come from. Her footsteps echoed lightly off of the rock, and the sound quickly became hypnotizing. Dragging her fingers idly on the side of the corridor, she fought heavy eyelids and the overwhelming urge to sit down, and continued to trudge as her thoughts began to twist together._

_She felt as if she were walking in place—like she were on the receiving end of some sick joke where she was in a darkened room on a moving treadmill . . . forever walking, but never able to move forward. _

_She was rapidly getting tired, but there was no sign of any light—light that would lead her toward sanctuary. _

_A loud scraping sounded suddenly and cut through her thoughts like a knife. She jerked to a stop, her heart suddenly loud in her ears—pounding like a jack hammer in her chest. The sound very well could have come from her very own feet scraping against the rock, but she couldn't be sure. Staring wide-eyed into the darkness before her, Hermione held her breath and strained her ears, listening for the noise to recur._

_Seconds passed. _

_Her heart rate gradually began to slow, and soon the only sound that polluted her ears was the sound of her breathing—quick, yet deep._

_Finally, she wrote the noise off as her overactive paranoid imagination and began to walk once more—completely ignoring the feeling of dread that was twisting poisonously in her gut. _

_She had only taken two steps when the scraping sound shattered the silence once more—closer this time._

_This time, Hermione knew that it wasn't her imagination. Her mouth went dry as she stood frozen, her fingers shaking slightly against the rock. She swallowed thickly but lost her breath completely when she heard something moving—sliding slowly down the corridor. She could hear it pulling its body across the rock, steadily getting closer to her. _

_And it was breathing._

_Deep, even breaths, laced with the hint of a rasp radiated behind her—a sick noise that emanated from a slimy throat. _

_Fear engulfed her. Keeping her hand planted on the wall, she blindly began to hurry through the tunnel. Visions of monsters with yellow eyes narrowed into slits and dripping sharp fangs polluted her mind. _

_It was gaining on her, and a low, menacing growl bounced eerily down the tunnel._

_She began to run._

_She ran—sprinting blindly down the corridor. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she pressed forward in the darkness. She ran as fast as she could, but in the voluminous void, she felt as if she were getting nowhere. It was quickly getting hard to breathe. A sharp stitch appeared in her side, and she gripped at it with her free hand. Gasping for air, her legs continued to move. _

_She stumbled suddenly, and fell violently onto the hard ground. Pain shot from her hands and knees—creating spots of bright light before her eyes._

_She felt the beast behind her, gaining steadily, and a sense of hopelessness suddenly blanketed her._

_It howled—a deafening roar that shot fear directly to Hermione's soul. Shrinking back, she covered her ears with her hands, until the walls around her stopped shaking. _

_That got her moving . . . erasing her despair and replacing it with adrenaline. Choking back a sob, she pushed herself to her feet and began to run again._

_She staggered and faltered, tripping over precariously placed stones and her own feet, but miraculously, she was able to keep her balance. _

_It was close. _

_She could smell it now. It reeked of must and shit, of sulfur and sewage, of death and decay. And the stench was unbearable. _

_Sobbing, she covered her mouth and nose with her hand. She was tiring—quickly. And she was getting nowhere._

_It was growling—closing in—and (from the sound of its feet on the hardened soil) Hermione knew that it possessed large, pointed claws. _

_But she didn't want to look behind her._

_She knew there was no escape, but she kept running. She couldn't help it. Memories of her friends—her beautiful friends—flashed before her face like a perfectly edited slide show. She could feel her tears, hot and wet, drenching her cheeks, although she couldn't remember when they had started to fall. _

_She was shaking. She knew that there wasn't much time left . . . and the ending was abruptly crystal clear._

_Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath—silently accepting her fate. A surprising sense of calmness washed over her._

_And that was when it pounced._

_The air rushed from her lungs as the beast landed on her. And suddenly, her newfound acceptance and sense of tranquility were gone . . . and was replaced with unadulterated terror. _

_Writhing in pain, she gasped for breath as its razor sharp claws dug into her back. Her body was on fire as the beast began shredding her flesh—ripping into it and exposing muscle and bone with deep, jagged gashes._

_Its breath was on her neck, hot and putrid. It growled low in its throat, a menacing sound that needed no translation. _

_And then, she was screaming—the sound echoing emptily off the rock. _

_She was screaming for mercy—begging for her life. She was screaming for help. She was screaming for Draco—praying that her voice would carry, although she knew that it was pointless. _

_And she was still screaming as the beast's teeth ripped into the soft skin of her throat. _

Hermione felt a gentle pressure on her arm. With a gasp, her eyes snapped open and she swung blindly at her attacker.

The assault was so sudden, it caught Draco off guard, and Hermione's fist connected with his chest—hard—before he was able to catch her wrist tightly in his hand. Disoriented, Hermione struggled against him and attempted to strike him again.

Gritting his teeth, Draco fought to hold her at bay. "Jesus fucking Christ, woman! What the hell?"

Hermione continued to fight him, dazed and unfocused, like a madwoman. She kicked and writhed, continuously moving, until, with an insurmountable bout of strength, she was able to jerk one of her hands free from his ironclad grip.

Swinging wildly, her hand connected with Draco's face. The slap reverberated through the cavern like a gunshot.

Releasing her wrists, Draco stumbled back in shock, clutching his cheek.

The echoing _crack_ was enough to snap Hermione from her delirium. Blinking rapidly, the space around her slowly began to manifest. She was on the floor in the open cavern. Draco was a few feet away, scrubbing at his cheek with his hand. Turning her head, she looked up toward the broken earth above them. The sun was setting, turning the sky a ghastly shade of blood red.

Reality entered her mind like a freight train.

_It was a dream._

It was no longer dark, but her dream was so vivid that she still felt as if the weight of the beast was still pressing down on her lungs. Panting, she gasped for air. She could still feel its breath on her neck . . . smell death radiating from it. Her back was still on fire, as if her flesh at truly been destroyed.

Draco was talking—ranting angrily—but she couldn't understand him.

She couldn't move . . . her body was wracked in pain. She could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate as tears continued to flow from her eyes, coating her cheeks and wetting the floor. She struggled for breath—wheezing until spots began to form, clouding her vision. Carefully, she curled into herself, bringing her knees up to her chest, and tried to calm herself.

Draco's face stung. Dropping his hand to his side, he turned to glare at Hermione, his eyes narrowed into thin slits. But, as soon as he saw her shivering form, curled into the fetal position and gasping for air, all anger slipped from his veins.

Crawling, he crossed the short distance and gently laid a hand on the small of Hermione's back.

Hermione flinched in pain—pulling away from his touch. Draco pulled back slightly before laying his hand on her again. "Granger?"

Hermione turned her face toward him. Her eyes were wide, the terror evident. Lying on her back, she fought for a quality intake of breath—gasping like a fish out of water.

Draco was suddenly filled with fear. He touched her shoulder lightly. "Hermione?"

Her eyes began to roll dangerously.

"Hermione?" Cupping her face, he turned her head toward his. "Look at me . . . You need to breathe. Come on . . . breathe!"

Hermione felt his hand on her face, and it was surprisingly comforting.

Draco was taking over exaggerated breaths, coaxing Hermione to follow his lead. Focusing on the liquid depths of Draco's silvery eyes, she breathed with him, painfully pulling air deep into her lungs until she felt the hysteria subsiding. Finally, her lungs opened fully, and she inhaled deeply . . . and immediately began to cough.

Turning her face toward the ground, she choked violently. Unable to catch her breath, her stomach cramped and she could feel the familiar waves of nausea beginning to build once more. Unable to control it, her body went rigid she began to dry heave. Gagging, she retched—but there was nothing to come up. Doubling over, her body fought to expel anything from her stomach. Her fingers clawed at the ground and tears streamed from her eyes as she struggled once more to breathe.

Draco's reassuring hand was suddenly on her again. His hand slowly began rubbing circles on her back as he quietly shushed her. "Shhh . . . it's okay. It's okay . . . just let it out."

At last, the retching ceased.

Coughing, Hermione collapsed onto the floor. She was completely spent—her muscles weak . . . her body exhausted. Wearily, she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, wiping the spittle from her face. Putting her face on the cold ground, she panted and attempted to catch her breath.

Draco let his hand drop from her back and released a shaky breath as he brushed a hand across his face. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes shut, Hermione nodded weakly.

"What was that all about?"

She swallowed thickly before answering. "It was a dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Just the idea of the dream caused the vivid violence and pain to rush back. And, even though Draco's tone was gentle, the fear she felt immediately overshadowed it and caused Hermione's stomach to drop like a rock.

Instantaneously, she felt hot tears pressing from behind her closed lids.

Curling once more onto her side, she turned her body to hide her face from Draco's steely gaze. Fighting the new batch of tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes, she pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"So, you're not even going to explain what kind of dream could have constituted punching me in the face?"

Hermione wrapped her arms around her torso more tightly and shook her head disjointedly.

Draco sighed heavily.

Uncomfortable silence filled the cave. Seconds turned to minutes, but it felt like days . . . years. Lying on the cold ground, Hermione suddenly began to shiver. But she wasn't quite sure if it was the cold that was making her tremble . . . or the memory of her dream.

"You're shaking."

She jumped as his voice ended the lull, but kept her eyes shut. She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder.

"Are you cold?"

Hermione laughed dryly—almost hopelessly. "You're not the one in a bloody skirt."

There was a shuffling behind her, and suddenly, she felt pressure pressing lightly against her back. Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head just in time to see Draco sliding his body next to hers.

"What are you doing?"

Draco adjusted his weight to get more comfortable. "We called a truce, right?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco cut her off.

"Look . . . I'm not about to let you freeze. And _I'm_ not exactly a monster either, you know. It may surprise you to know this, but I was actually raised as quite the gentleman . . . another one of the drawbacks of growing up 'privileged.' So, you can go back to hating me _after _we get out of this God-forsaken hellhole."

Hermione released a strangled laugh, but it immediately died in her throat when she felt Draco's arm snake over her body and come to rest lightly on the curve of her waist.

Involuntarily, she gasped and tensed—her body becoming rigid under Draco's touch.

Draco flinched in surprise and snatched back his arm as if he had been burned. "Jesus Christ! Would you just fucking relax?"

Hermione felt her face flush scarlet. Silently, she released the breath that she had been holding. "I'm sorry."

Draco hesitated for a few moments before reaching out and draping his arm over her body once more. This time, Hermione relaxed, and Draco's grip around her tightened, pulling her closer into his body.

Hermione felt uncomfortable with the sudden closeness to one of her sworn enemies, but the heavenly feeling of close human contact quickly outweighed that. Snuggling into his body, she sighed as she could feel his body heat slowly beginning to sink through her clothing.

Shutting her eyes, Hermione focused on the sound of Draco's even breaths and the weight of his arm over her waist. And, as the sun slipped silently beyond the horizon, Hermione miraculously slipped from consciousness and slept.

********************************

Hermione woke suddenly and immediately felt as if something were missing. Opening her eyes, it took a moment for her vision to adjust to the murkiness. Blinking, she looked around her.

The sun had set . . . casting the cave into an inky blackness.

She stretched and her body screamed in protest as her muscles flexed. She was sore and tired, still lying on the frozen ground.

And she was cold.

Pulling her cloak tightly around her body, she was suddenly aware of what was missing.

Draco.

Painfully, she sat up. Her head swam and she had to squeeze her eyes shut until the feeling passed.

Finally, she opened her eyes.

Draco was sitting a few feet away, doubled over, arms wrapped around his abdomen. His face looked pale in the faint moonlight. Dropping his head into his hand, he took a few measured breaths through his nose. At length, he straightened his neck and—blankly staring into the darkness—took one final careful breath and released it in a sigh.

"Are you okay?"

Draco jumped slightly and turned his head. He nodded. "Couldn't sleep."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Yeah . . . but you should try, you know? Conserve your energy."

Draco sighed, but nodded silently. Carefully, he turned and began to crawl back, his teeth grit in pain as he blatantly favored his ankle.

Hermione watched with a sudden sense of panic. "Are you hurt?"

Draco paused, rocking back onto knees to rest. His skin was slightly pale and clammy looking from the sheen of sweat that had arisen from his exertions. "I'm fine."

Hermione shook her head violently. "No, you're not."

Draco's eyes flashed angrily. "Yes, I am."

Hermione rose to her feet. "Let me look at your ankle."

Leaning on one hip, Draco pulled his knees to his chest defensively. "No."

Ignoring him, Hermione crossed the distance between them and reached out to touch him.

Draco recoiled from her. "No!"

Hermione sighed. "Oh, honestly. Stop being such a baby."

She reached out once more, and Draco moved. Growling lightly, Hermione tried again, but to the same result.

They fought like this for a while—Hermione reaching, while Draco moved away—but finally, frustration took over and Hermione's arm shot out and she gripped his ankle angrily.

Draco howled in pain and Hermione instantaneously drew back. Breathing heavily, she stared at him, her eyes wide.

Draco had his teeth bared—his face paled an additional shade. Swearing under his breath, he focused on breathing deeply and evenly.

Hermione leaned toward him, and he recoiled.

Slowly, she reached forward. "Let me see." Her voice was quiet. "Please."

Draco tensed, but remained still.

Gently, Hermione rolled up Draco's pant leg and wrapped her fingers around his ankle. Sucking in a sharp intake of breath, Draco clenched his fists as her cool touch came into contact with the heated flesh of his injured leg.

Frowning, Hermione carefully felt his ankle. She could feel fluid under the skin, distorting it—distending it to a nearly impossible degree. She pressed her thumb down softly and Draco cried out.

The sound was enough to make Hermione's heart plummet.

Dropping her hand, she felt tears well in her eyes, as a sense of complete hopelessness blanketed her.

Shaking, she covered her mouth with her hand. "This is bad." Her words were muffled by her fingers.

Draco shook his head stubbornly. "No, it's not. I'm fine."

Hermione shook her own head. "No . . . no, this is bad."

Abruptly, she pushed herself to her feet and began to pace. "This is bad . . . oh, this is bad, bad, bad . . . ."

Tears fell steadily from her eyes now, coating her cheeks. Almost trancelike, she mumbled to herself as familiar flames of panic licked at her subconsciousness. "This is so bad . . . we're not going to get out of here . . . we're stuck down here, and it's too cold, and there's no food, and we've been waiting too long. I can't do this . . . I can't . . . I just can't."

Bending at the waist, she leaned heavily on her knees as she suddenly felt nauseous. "Oh God . . . we're going to die down here. Do you realize that? We're going to fucking die."

"We're not going to die down here." Draco's voice was cold.

"Yes . . . yes we are. I can't go back into those tunnels . . . I can't. And now, you're hurt . . . and we've been waiting too long . . . ."

"I already told you, I'm fine."

Hermione looked up, her face wet with tears. "Fine? Fine?! Malfoy, I'm pretty sure that your ankle is broken! You can't walk on that!"

"I'll manage. Besides, it's an easy fix."

Hermione laughed manically. She felt as if she were on the verge of hysteria. "Yeah, with a _wand_!! We don't HAVE WANDS!! And I'm pretty sure that even if we _did _have wands, that is far too advanced for me to even attempt to try!"

She began pacing absentmindedly once more.

"Look . . . we'll be fine. We just need to stay calm."

Hermione laughed again, a dry, strangled sound that echoed eerily off of the walls.

Draco ignored her. "We need to stay calm and think rationally until someone comes for us."

Hermione skidded to a halt and spun on her heel to face him once more. Throwing her hands up in the air, she let them fall with a _slap _against her legs. "Don't you see? Nobody is coming!"

Draco shook his head. "That's not true."

"It is, and you know it. Nobody is going to come. _Nobody _is going to find us!"

"No. My father—"

"Oh, your father . . . your _father_?! Jesus, Malfoy! When are you going to realize that your father doesn't do a THING that he promises? He's not coming! I bet he doesn't even realize you're gone."

Draco's mouth closed. Shifting his gaze from her, he turned his head and stared blankly into the darkness, his shoulders slumped slightly.

Instantly, Hermione felt ashamed. Slowly, her erratic emotions neutralized until there was only a dull throbbing behind her eyes. "I'm sorry . . . I shouldn't have said that."

She felt stupid.

Stupid for saying it . . . stupid for hurting him when he didn't do anything wrong. Stupid enough that she felt that she needed to explain herself. "I-I just don't feel well. I need to go lie down."

Taking a careful step forward, Hermione's eyes suddenly fluttered shut drowsily. With a moan, she stumbled—reaching out blindly to steady herself.

Surprised, Draco jolted and reached out for her. "Are you okay?"

Hermione steadied herself before he could get to her, and she pulled away from him. "'mfine . . . I just need to lie down."

Purposefully stepping around his outstretched hand, Hermione walked a few steps before sitting unceremoniously on the cold ground. She could feel the tears pressing again, and she was too tired to fight them off anymore. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she put her head down into them and wept—her shoulders shaking violently.

She didn't hear Draco moving behind her, and when his hand suddenly gripped her shoulder gently, she jumped.

"Shhh, it's okay." Draco's voice was soft. "You're tired . . . we're both tired. We need to sleep, and we can think of things in the morning . . . when we're more rested and our minds are clearer."

Sniffling, Hermione nodded, too tired to argue. She was also too tired to argue when he exerted steady pressure on her shoulder. Instead, she allowed him to guide her down until she was recumbent—curled slightly on her side.

Draco slid closer to her and, pressing his body against hers, wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. He could feel her breathing—deeply and evenly—and he tried to emulate her.

He couldn't help but think—with his arm wrapped tightly around her—that she felt incredibly small and fragile in his grip. And, to his complete surprise, he felt absolutely protective of her. Pulling her closer, he nestled his face into her hair. It smelt of dirt and oil, yet was still amazingly feminine—a subtle hint of floral.

He felt himself beginning to slip away, nuzzled into her warmth.

"Do you really think someone is coming?"

Hermione's voice was still slightly thick with tears.

Draco nodded against her head. "I really do."

"But what if they don't find us?"

"They will . . . my father is coming."

Hermione turned her head, attempting to look at him over her shoulder. "Why do you keep saying that?"

Draco set his jaw. "Because he is."

"But _how_ do you know?"

"He has to . . . he's disappointed me my whole entire life . . . and he's got enough goddamn money . . . if he was even the slightest bit decent, he's out there right now . . . worried sick and not giving up until he finds me."

Hermione fell silent, so uncomfortable in hearing Draco's real thoughts—full of pain and fear—that she had nothing to say. Quietly, she turned her head from him once more.

And Draco sensed it.

He cleared his throat hastily. "Don't even think about it. Think about later. What's the first thing you're going to do when we get back?"

"Besides ignore you?"

Draco laughed—a sincere sound that surprised Hermione. "Yeah, besides that."

Hermione sighed dreamily. "Food . . . warm, delicious food."

"Like roast beef and fried sausages?"

"Mmmm, and Cornish pasties, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding . . . ."

"Custard tart and crumpets . . . ."

"Goblets of pumpkin juice . . . ."

"And hot butter beer . . . ."

Hermione's stomach growled violently and she gasped in pain. "Okay . . . no more talk about food."

Draco's stomach echoed hers. "Agreed." He sighed. "So, I guess talks of a hot shower, dry, clean clothes, or a bed are out of the question as well?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but a smile played on her lips. "Completely."

They fell silent.

Hermione focused on the feeling of his body pressed against hers—his arm warm and shielding. She felt his breath against the back of her neck—hot and even—and she couldn't help but remember the way his body looked in the early morning light . . . his chiseled chest . . . his strong abs.

She felt possessed, intoxicated—wrapped up in his strength.

Draco sighed heavily and his hand moved gently over her ribs, causing goose bumps to rise on Hermione's arms. She pressed more heavily against him, and he reciprocated by tightening his arm around her.

She wasn't exactly sure what was going through her mind, nor what controlled her movements, but suddenly, she was lightly dragging her fingers up Draco's arm.

Draco tensed a little. "What are you doing?"

Lazily, she traced the contours in his forearm, mesmerized by the way his muscles felt under her fingers. "I don't know."

He cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't necessarily want her to stop. . "You don't know?"

She shook her head slowly. "I just don't want to feel pain anymore. No more hunger . . . no more cold . . . . Just for a few minutes, I want to feel good. Don't you want to feel good? "

Draco's heart rate increased.

Hermione's voice was hardly a whisper. "I can make you feel good . . . do you want me to make you feel good?"

Draco's body hardened against her. Hermione sighed and rolled her hips back into his lap.

Draco's breath was intense and persistent against her neck as his hands roamed over her torso. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head back, allowing his lips to graze the sensitive skin.

His lips found her ear, and as his teeth nipped the lobe gently, she shivered—liquid heat pooling.

She turned her head more and his lips moved lightly across her jaw line.

It was suddenly getting difficult to breathe.

His mouth moved steadily, across her jaw, over her cheek, sliding dangerously close to her mouth. She pressed into him, her body writhing against his. Wanting more . . . _needing _more.

He paused and Hermione's eyes snapped open. Panting, she stared into his eyes, lust causing them to change them the color of molten lead.

"You realize that this doesn't change anything? Now or later?" His voice was husky and she could feel his pressing erection prodding her lower back.

She couldn't find enough breath for words. Instead, she merely nodded.

It was all the answer Draco needed.

With a moan, he captured her mouth. Hermione gasped at the ferociousness of it.

His lips—cracked and dry—worked over her mouth, yet were surprisingly supple. Hermione turned in his arms, wrapped her arms around his neck, and allowed him greater access. Pulling her hard against his body, Draco snaked his tongue out and forced it within the warm cavern of Hermione's mouth. Hermione obliged, moaning as their tongues swirled and danced around each other.

Grabbing the front of his robes, she pulled him closer. Rolling, his body easily slid on top of hers. Hermione ran her hands up his arms and across his chest, fascinated by his physique.

Draco's thumb ran lightly over her nipple and she began to tingle. Never breaking their kiss, he palmed her through her shirt—squeezing and cupping the fullness of her swollen breasts.

Hermione moaned against his mouth bucked her hips toward him.

Draco growled low in his throat and began to work on the buttons of her blouse.

It was then, to Hermione's dismay, that Draco's lips left her mouth. But, the feeling was short-lived as he slowly headed south, kissing the exposed flesh from her neck to her chest. Opening her shirt completely, he bent his head and took an overly sensitive nipple between his teeth—nipping at it through the fabric of her bra.

Hermione gasped and arched her back. Deftly, she pulled at her sleeves—liberating her arms from the confines of her shirt.

Unhesitatingly, Draco reached around her body and—twisting her first this way and then that—unhooked her bra and threw it across the room, freeing her. She shivered as the cool air came in contact with her swelling breasts, but Draco was immediately back on them, feasting on her flesh as he sucked her nipples deep within the depths of his mouth. She twisted under him, trying to get away . . . trying to get closer.

Hermione's fingers were suddenly fumbling over the buttons of Draco's shirt. She needed to feel his chest against hers.

Peeling the fabric from his torso, Draco shrugged his arms out of the sleeves and the shirt pooled on the floor beside them. His cloak—still tired around his neck—encompassed their bodies, but Hermione was too fixated on the sight of his pale flesh in the dimness. Carefully, she ran her hands down his chest and wrapped them around his lean waist.

Draco lifted his head and, sliding his body up hers, reclaimed her lips.

Hermione pulled him closer to her, his body warm and hard against hers. Raking her nails over his broad, smooth back, she teased him with her tongue, tracing his lips with it before plunging it deep into his mouth.

He groaned as he was overcome by the sensation of her tongue in his mouth and her distended nipples against his chest.

Coyly, Hermione ran her foot up his leg. Her knees parted, and Draco settled heavily between them. She could feel his manhood—firm and persistent—pushing into her inner thigh. Running her hand over his abdomen, she found his solid bulge behind the straining zipper and massaged it through his pants.

Draco's head fell back in a sigh. Panting, his eyes closed as Hermione's fingers worked him through the material. He bucked into her hand, wanting more, but she controlled the pace.

He felt like he was losing control and, just as he almost began to whimper, Hermione's fingers found his belt. Undoing the buckle, her hand slid beneath the waistband of his pants. Her small fingers touched him—smooth silk over unbending steel—and Draco released a shaky breath. Wrapping her hand tightly around his erection, she began to pump him deliberately.

Draco looked down at her, his eyes catching her. Her eyes were dark with lust—shining from beneath heavy lids as she stroked him. Panting, she licked her lips.

Draco grit his teeth. He was having trouble catching his breath. "Enough."

In a flash, he ripped Hermione's soaked panties from her hips and discarded them to the side as Hermione pushed his pants down past his hips. Gripping her hips, he pushed her skirt up to her waist, opened her to him, and pressed against her wet opening.

Seizing his hardened length, Hermione briefly stroked the wet lips between her legs—the slick flesh swollen and blooming—before Draco parted the sensitive tissue and thrust into her.

She gasped as she was stretched and filled with his manhood.

Draco draped his body over hers, sliding up and down her figure with each driving force, causing heavenly friction to occur between their flesh.

Gripping his back, Hermione pulled him closer to her body, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist. Moaning, she tossed her head, and met him thrust for thrust—their hips rocking against each other.

Draco's worked faster, driving into her in a slow, powerful rhythm. Shifting slightly, he hit a spot deep within her walls. She could feel something building in her lower abdomen, and she held him close—pushing her fingers into the thick silk of his hair, raking her fingernails over his scalp, and gripping the locks at the base of his neck—urging him to continue hitting that spot.

Draco bent and bit and sucked at her neck as his hips worked as a piston between her legs. A drop of sweat formed on her chest and dripped slowly between her breasts. Heat rose from the friction that was created between their bodies, causing Hermione's face to flush.

He growled, low and menacing, and Hermione tugged his mouth to hers, fusing her lips to his. As her tongue slid along his, Draco's thrusts within her became even deeper, harder and slightly arrhythmic. He tore his mouth from hers, his jaw clenched as he tried to control himself. Hermione slid her hands through his hair and tugged his mouth back to hers. Sucking and licking, she felt utterly intoxicated . . . felt her orgasm swelling inexorably inside of her.

Draco swelled further, stretching her to an almost impossible degree. She contracted around him and he moaned. Moving her hands from his hair, she gripped his firm buttocks, pulling him closer, and urged him to come more deeply inside of her. Their bodies slapped together, and Hermione began to pant Draco's name. Yet, she broke off abruptly, the words becoming one long moan as a rippling orgasm welled up and overflowed.

Draco felt her walls constricting around his member, yet she still gloved him tightly. Setting his jaw, he thrust into her, feeling his own release building. With one final push, he fell over the edge, his cock jerking and twitching inside of her. His body spent, he collapsed atop Hermione, pressing her down with his boneless, heavy weight.

Hermione still gripped his shoulders tightly, feeling his chest rising and falling heavily against her. Looking up toward the break in the sky, she noticed that the clouds had begun to break. Through the white mist her breath created, she saw thousands of stars beginning to poke through the darkened night sky.

Panting and staring up in wonder, she lay trembling beneath Draco's body, and this time, the trembling wasn't from the cold.


	7. A Turn for the Worse

**Chapter 7:**

**A Turn for the Worse**

Draco stirred, broke quietly from his reverie, and stretched.

He was stiff and sore—something that confused him greatly—but he was warm.

And his mouth was dry.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed thickly. Cautiously, he licked his cracked lips. It burned and he moaned, not wanting to conscious.

Shifting slightly, he was momentarily surprised when he felt the small frame of a woman pressing against him, but he quickly didn't care. Instinctively, he tightened his arm and pulled her closer to his chest. He felt the smooth, naked flesh of her back against his skin.

All thoughts of discomfort slipped silently from his mind. He pulled her tighter to his body and kissed her shoulder before biting it gently—his tongue sweeping over her hot skin as his lips nipped and nibbled at her.

She tasted of salt.

His hand played lightly over her ribcage—his thumb brushing her nipple—and he pressed his lap against her, spooning her tightly, and losing himself in the feeling of their naked bodies intertwining.

Sighing heavily, he nuzzled into her neck, burying his face into her hair.

Breathing deeply, he took in her scent and tried to go back to sleep.

A combination of shampoo, dirt, and oil hit his nose. But there was something more—an odd note mixed in.

A note that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Furrowing his brow—his eyes still closed—he inhaled deeply.

The unknown scent invaded his nostrils once more.

Concentrating, he focused on breathing evenly, as he attempted to dissect the smell from its surrounding bouquet of odors. But it was difficult to decipher.

There was a coppery undertone to it . . . like rust and iron . . . .

Almost metallic.

Cracking an eyelid, Draco winced in the early morning light. Slowly, he rotated his head toward the ceiling. Celestial rays streamed in, casting radiant lines of light and illuminating the space around them.

He blinked once—twice—to clear his head, and slowly things began to focus.

He could see the broken earth above him, could feel the cold, hard ground beneath his body, and his pain came rushing back . . . .

He rolled his shoulders, wincing as his muscles protested.

He turned his head once more and saw a tangled mess of flattened brown curls.

And the events of last night were suddenly crystal clear in him memory.

_Hermione._

He stared at the back of her head momentarily in a daze—trying to figure out why he had a sudden nagging feeling of sheer and undiluted dread in the pit of his stomach.

Moving slowly, he lifted his hand gently picked up a strand of her limp hair. Rolling it between his fingers, his anxiety deepened—the strand was crisp . . . thick . . . but slightly sticky.

He leaned forward and sniffed at the lock.

The same metallic smell assaulted his nose.

_Blood._

Inhaling sharply, Draco sat up in alarm—ignoring the pain that reeled through his body.

Hermione lay curled on her side, sleeping. Yet, she was sleeping the sleep of one who was fighting a battle inside of her head. Her eyes were pressed together tightly, lines of worry covering her normally smooth skin. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, and looking down at her, she looked amazingly frail, with her body curled and her hands pressed together—her fingers wringing involuntarily against her chest.

Draco studied her face and felt physically sick when his eyes came across a gash at her hairline, just above her temple—a gash that was surrounded by a deep purple bruise.

The wound had clotted into a jagged, rough looking scab, and the section of hair that ran from the cut was stained a deep scarlet, including the piece that Draco now held in his hand.

His stomach lurched and he dropped the strand like it was on fire.

How had he not noticed this before?

Hermione moaned suddenly and shuddered in her sleep. Her face paled as tiny beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Her breathing quickened—her head tossing fretfully—as small whimpers escaped her lips.

Draco leaned over her body in trepidation. He didn't know what to do.

Moments passed.

Licking his lips once more, he apprehensively reached his hand out, brushed back her hair, and touched her face lightly with his fingertips.

With a terrified gasp, Hermione's eyes snapped open and, rolling onto her back, she slapped his hand away in alarm.

Breathing heavily, she was momentarily lost in her surroundings and she choked back a strangled sob—her eyes wide.

Blankly, she stared at him—her eyes unseeing.

Unsure of what to do, Draco stared back, a loss for words.

Finally, focus reclaimed her brown eyes and she swallowed thickly, her breathing evening out. Carefully, she studied Draco's face, her eyes falling lengthily on his concerned silvery orbs.

"You okay?" His voice seemed strained.

Weakly, she nodded and turned onto her side once more. "Yeah."

But she wasn't okay.

Her head was throbbing, creating spots of light that exploded before her eyes and made it extremely difficult to focus. Her stomach was cramping painfully, causing waves of nausea to flow through her. There was an odd ringing in her ears.

She was sore—her body reaching its limits because of the events of the last few days.

And the longer she lay on the cold, hard ground, the more she realized that it was getting progressively worse.

"Was it another nightmare?"

Hermione felt tears well in her eyes and before she could stop it, one slipped silently down her cheek. She wiped at it with hasty fingers before nodding.

"Tell me about it." Draco's voice was surprisingly gentle.

Sniffling, Hermione shook her head. "I don't remember it."

Draco frowned. "Then why are you trembling?"

"I'm cold." It was the first thing that came to her mind, and the lie slipped out easily.

The heat from Draco's body suddenly disappeared, and she felt a stab of panic in the pit of her stomach. Alarmed, she looked over her shoulder.

Draco was reaching—well, more like fumbling—a short distance away for something on the ground.

Hermione watched him in dazed fascination, her brow furrowed.

Finally, Draco found what he was looking for. Awkwardly, he crawled back to her, his discovery gripped in his fist.

Rolling onto her back, Hermione didn't even comprehend the cool air that licked at her skin. Instead, she watched Draco intently.

Draco reached her and rolled casually on to a hip, his body close to hers. He shook out the item that was wadded in his hand, and Hermione felt a sudden heat rise to her cheeks.

It was her shirt.

Leaning forward, Draco gripped her shoulders gently with his long fingers and pulled her into a seated position.

Her head screamed as she was pulled vertical, and she swayed dangerously.

Draco's hand wrapped tightly around her back, steadying her. "Whoa . . . you okay?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes closed. "Just lightheaded."

Draco scrutinized her face, his eyes lingering on the gash above her temple. She was extremely pale, and he frowned in concern. Pushing it momentarily from his mind, he reached around her and slid her shirt up over her arms.

Hermione didn't protest—her arms limp as she allowed him to dress her. She didn't even flinch when his fingers began to work the buttons on her blouse, including the ones that fell between her naked breasts.

When he was finished, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face gently. "Hermione, look at me."

Breathing heavily through her nose, Hermione shook her head slowly. "The light hurts." Her voice was soft—her words slurring slightly.

Draco bit his lip. "Okay . . . ." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay . . . I'll tell you what . . . we'll go where there's no light, okay?"

"Where?"

"We're gonna go into the tunnels. The two of us. We're going to find a way out . . . okay?"

Hermione's face paled even more, a look of terror crossing her features. Her mouth turned downward, her chin trembling slightly. "No . . . no, no, no, no, no, no . . . ."

Hermione crumbled upon herself—pulling her knees up to her chest and dropping her face into them—her words mumbling almost incoherently.

Draco gripped her shoulders, trying to gain her attention. "Hermione? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Please . . . please don't make me. I can't . . . I can't. Just please . . . please . . . don't make me go." She was begging like a child.

"Why not?"

Hermione turned her head carefully. Her face was wet—coated with tears—her eyes glassy and unseeing. "There's something in the tunnels." Her voice was a haunting whisper.

Draco felt his stomach plummet, but her forced himself to remain calm. "Something in the tunnels? What's in the tunnels?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know."

"Did you see it?"

Hermione nodded. "It chased me . . . attacked me."

Draco's mouth went dry. "It attacked you? Where? Show me."

Hermione's hand moved absentmindedly over her neck. "Here . . . it landed on me. And then there were teeth . . . and claws . . . ." Shuddering, she broke off with a sob, her head dipping back down into her legs.

His heart pounding, Draco ripped at the collar of her shirt, his hands running over her flesh.

But her skin was smooth—unmarred.

He swallowed thickly, instantaneously filled with relief. "Hermione, you're fine."

Hermione looked up at him once more, confused. "What?"

"You're fine . . . that didn't happen."

Hermione shook her head, her brow furrowed. "No . . . no, it did. I remember."

Draco stared at her. "You're not hurt . . . it didn't happen."

Hermione stared blankly into the distance. "But I remember . . . it _had _to happen. Because I remember . . . . I swear . . . it was so real . . . there was something . . . ." She turned to face him again. "You believe me, don't you?"

Draco reached forward and rubbed her back in gentle, sweeping circles. Setting his jaw, he nodded.

Hermione laughed—a dry sound full of sarcasm. "No, you don't . . . because I don't even believe me. Jesus . . . I don't even know what's real or not anymore."

And he didn't believe her. In fact, he believed she was losing her goddamned mind. And he needed to do something about it.

Shifting, he slid his body from hers.

Hermione's head snapped up. "What are you doing?"

Draco was reaching for his shirt an arms' length away. "I'm going into the tunnels. I'm going to find a way out. I'll do it alone."

Hermione face blanched. She gripped at his cloak. "No . . . no please, don't leave me here alone. I can't be alone."

Draco sighed, and dropped his shirt back onto the ground.. "Look . . . you have two options: Stay here alone, or come with. Because I'm going . . . with, or without you."

"I don't want to be alone."

She clutched him, sobbing as she pulled him closer to her body.

Gently, he wrapped his arms around her shaking frame and tried to soothe her. "I'll come back for you. You have my word." He murmured the words into her hair as he smoothed his hands down her back.

Hermione pressed her face into his chest. "You shouldn't."

Draco startled and pushed her away from his body. "What? Don't you dare talk like that."

Tears fell down her cheeks, cutting tracks in the dirt and grime. "I mean it. If you find a way out, just get out. I'm not worth coming back for."

Fire flashed in Draco's eyes. "I am _going_ to come back for you."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm serious. You get out . . . go and get someone . . . come back. I'll be alright."

Draco pulled her against his body once more. She trembled in his arms. "I'm not going to leave you. You're going to come with me . . . we'll fight this together."

She shook her head, her voice a whisper. "I can't go back in there . . . ."

"Yes, you can. I'll be with you . . . the whole way."

"You won't leave me?"

"Not for one second."

Hermione sniffled loudly. Minutes passed as muddled thoughts polluted her mind. She felt safe and warm in Draco's embrace.

Finally, she nodded. "I'll go."

Draco sighed against her hair.

"But, can we just rest a little while longer? I'm just so tired."

Draco felt a twang of anguish lick at his heart. She was so frail. "Of course."

Carefully, he lay down and pulled Hermione close to his body. Grabbing the edge of his cloak, he draped his arm tightly around her. He could feel her erratic breathing, and he brushed a piece of hair from her face.

Her head lay on his outstretched arm, her eyes closed tightly and her face lined with pain and worry.

Wrapping his hand around her head, he smoothed her hair gently and traced her jaw with his fingertips, until the lines on her face smoothed and her breathing evened out.

Leaning forward, he gently kissed her lips before pressing his lips against her forehead. Her skin was hot, and he tried to soothe it with a second kiss.

Sighing deeply, her pulled her closer and slowly allowed his eyes to close.

*************************************

Draco woke with a start.

The sun had changed in the sky, and now cast strange shadows around him that momentarily confused him of his surroundings.

He was warm—his arms still wrapped tightly around Hermione.

She was still asleep—breathing evenly—her head still on his arm.

Stretching lightly, he realized that his hands were asleep, and as he moved, his fingers tingling painfully.

Being cautious not to wake her, and cautious of her head, Draco pulled his arm from under her. Sitting up, he rolled his shoulders, wincing as he stretched his back. Using his thumb, he worked on the muscles in his hands and cracked his knuckles loudly.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep. Hell, he didn't even realize that he _had_ fallen asleep. But, looking at the position of the sun in the sky, he guessed that it had been a few hours.

Looking around, he located his shirt, crumpled on the ground and picked it up. He shook it briefly—dirt and dust rising in a cloud above it—before sliding it over his shoulders.

He shivered as the cool material came in contact with his skin.

He tried to fasten the buttons, but his fingers refused to cooperate. Blowing into his closed fist, he tried again.

Finally, he closed the last button and leaned back. It was eerily quiet around him—save for Hermione's soft breathing.

Looking toward the darkened tunnels on the far edge of the cave, he licked his lips nervously. He looked briefly toward the sky, and knew that they were going to run out of daylight sooner rather than later.

He glanced back toward the tunnels, his heart pounding lightly against his ribs.

He knew a lot of things at that moment: He knew that he needed to rouse Hermione . . . knew that they had to go. He knew that there would be pain . . . unfathomable pain. He knew that it might be the most difficult thing he had even had to do.

But there was one thing that he didn't know: He didn't know if it was the right thing to do . . . because he didn't know if there even _was _a way out. And there was a chance that they could both die in the darkness, alone and scared.

But, he knew that they couldn't stay here any longer. Hermione was too sick . . . if she didn't get help soon . . . .

He shook his head, clearing it from the thought. Taking a deep breath, he assured himself that he was making the right choice and turned to look at Hermione.

He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

Hermione lay trembling on her side, her knees drawn up tightly against her body.

In the different light, her face shone pale—her skin looking clammy, almost waxy. Her mouth was slightly agape—her lips possessing an abnormal bluish tint—and her breathing was slightly labored.

Shakily, Draco reached out his hand and gently touched her shoulder. Her eyes opened a fraction of an inch before rolling dangerously in her head.

Draco put his palm against her face. Through a thin sheen of sweat, heat radiated. Panicking, he felt at the pulse in her neck. It beat erratically beneath his fingertips.

All doubt vanished from his mind.

Untying the cloak from around his neck, he draped it over Hermione's small body, tucking it in tightly around her. She needed it now, more than him.

He leaned down, his lips inches from her ear. "I'm going to find a way out, okay? You have my word. I just need you to hold on."

Pressing his hands to the floor, Draco pushed himself up hastily. But as soon as he put weight on his injured foot and cried out and nearly fell.

Gritting his teeth, he shuffled his feet forward. Tears pressed against the corner of his eyes, but he forced himself to keep going . . . forced himself to forget about the pain.

Slowly, he made his way across the cave toward the tunnels. His foot was quickly becoming numb, masking some of the ache, but it still throbbed glaringly. Yet, he still pressed on.

"I'll come back for you." With one final look over his shoulder at Hermione, he swallowed his fear and swallowed the pain and entered the cave, instantly getting swallowed by darkness.

Shivering, Hermione barely heard him.


	8. Like a Serpent’s Tongue

**Chapter 8:**

**Like a Serpent's Tongue, a Fork One Must Choose.**

A bead of sweat dripped slowly down the side of Draco's face, and he brushed it away in frustration.

Yet, he didn't know why he even bothered.

His shirt was soaked through with perspiration from his exertions—his white-blonde hair plastered to his forehead—yet he still struggled forward, limping severely.

His leg was on fire, as if a hatchet lay lodged in his shin, wedged between muscle and bone . . . slicing through each nerve like a hot blade, flames licking at the torn bone and flesh.

Stumbling, he reached out blindly, grateful when his hand connected with the coolness of stone and he was able to keep himself vertical. Leaning heavily against the wall, he stood panting—his heart pounding in his chest.

Staring straight ahead, he saw nothing.

Carefully he turned his head . . . felt his eyes moving in their sockets . . . blinked to be sure his eyes were open, but could see nothing in the murky blackness.

He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know where he had been. He didn't know where he was now. Everything was the same—cloaked in impenetrable darkness. He tried to focus, but the pain he was feeling in his body—in his head—was unbearable.

He was weak—both physically and emotionally—and he wanted to rest . . . wanted to slide down the wall, lie down, and shut his eyes, but he knew that he couldn't. He knew that there was no other option. It was either this . . . or they would die down there.

_Both _of them.

That one thing he was certain of.

He shivered violently, suddenly aware that—even though he was heated from his efforts—he was soaked to the bone, it was getting cooler in the darkened corridors, and he was missing the cloak that he had draped over Hermione's body.

An image of her abruptly filled his mind. The idea of her . . . lying on the cold ground, shivering, so small and frail . . . unresponsive.

He felt a fire being fueled in his chest.

He had made a promise . . . given his word.

And a Malfoy never went back on his word.

Biting his lip, he pushed himself from the wall and had to refrain from crying out loud in pain.

Slowly, his feet shuffled forward, one hand resting lightly on the wall—helping to support his weight—the other outstretched before him, blindly reaching out into the darkness.

His fingertips touched a break in the wall, and he turned abruptly, following the path impulsively, relying on sheer faith alone.

The ground beneath his feet twisted and curved, bringing him deeper into the oblivion.

He turned when the path turned, his hands groping the wall—turned sharp corners that split from the main corridor, even though apprehension bubbled in the pit of his stomach. He turned recklessly . . . thoughtlessly . . . in fear that that he would lose the wall altogether if his hands ever left the stones that dripped with cool condensation and numbed his fingers.

He tripped suddenly and fell forward, his arms flailing. With a grunt, he hit a wall in front of him—hard. Panting, he splayed his fingers across the rocks, and a new panic set in.

Stretching his arms, he moved his hands away from his body, as far as he could reach, but there was nothing but solid rock. Cool, unyielding, impenetrable stone.

He moved slowly, pressing his palms flat against the wall, trying to find any breaks, any openings . . . anything.

But there was nothing. And he soon realized, with a growing sense of dread, that he had reached a dead-end.

He wanted to cry, but he pushed the feeling aside. Instead, days' worth of frustration welled within him.

Screaming, he attacked the wall—ignoring the searing pain that occurred as his knuckles connected with the stone.

Hot tears fell from his eyes, cutting brilliant trails through the grime on his face as he punched at the rock.

And finally, just as suddenly as he had started, he stopped—his breathing ragged and heavy.

He was exhausted—emotionally, mentally, and now, physically. Turning, he placed his back against the damp stones and, completely spent, slid to the ground, his knees pulled tightly up to his chest.

A stray tear escaped from the corner of his eye, and he wiped it away angrily. He refused to cry. Being emotional would get him nowhere.

But he was so tired . . . so sore . . . .

He could feel a hole—raw and empty—forming in his chest: A giant hole of despair—and he squeezed his eyes shut to the feeling.

Taking a deep breath, he released it shakily before tipping his head back against the rock. Slowly, he breathed—in and out . . . in and out . . . and tried to focus on optimistic thoughts.

He rubbed absentmindedly at his chaffed knuckles, feeling the hot slick of blood as it coated his fingers.

Silence and darkness surrounded him and he suddenly relished in the stillness.

He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep—wanted to give into the solitude and wake up in a better place . . . a place where there was no cold . . . no hunger . . . no pain. He wanted to leave this hellish nightmare, and he was certain that he could if he just went to sleep . . . .

A sound emanated somewhere in front of him—a sound like a rock being kicked, or a foot scraping against the ground—and his eyes snapped open.

Suddenly, he was back in his torment—his heart racing.

Holding his breath, he stared into the blackness, he eyes wide, but unseeing. His heart beat painfully in his chest—causing blood to pulse loudly in his ears and making it increasingly difficult to hear.

Panting, he strained his ears—trying to differentiate any discernable sound—but Hermione's haunting voice was suddenly in his head, making it impossible to listen . . . her words crystal clear:

_There's something in the tunnels_.

He couldn't help thinking of it. He tried as hard as he could to push it from his thoughts. But he couldn't . . . and it echoed—over and over—taunting him . . . terrifying him . . . like a record that was stuck and skipping.

He didn't believe there was anything in the caves . . . well, didn't _want_ to believe there was anything in the caves.

But the more he sat in the dark—straining his ears—the more his imagination kicked in. Images of monsters emerged in his head: Ghastly beasts and creatures . . . some that hadn't haunted his nightmares since he was a child. Others were new and more horrific than even he knew he was capable of creating.

He told himself that they were only manifestations, screamed at his mind to stop producing such ideas, but the images were too strong . . . Hermione's words too haunting.

He needed to get out of there.

It was too dark—too claustrophobic—and he was now getting too scared to be embarrassed by his overactive imagination.

His pain masked by adrenaline, he pushed himself to his feet with shaking hands and began to walk briskly forward.

It was impossible to see, but that didn't slow him as he moved onward—his fingers outstretched.

The tunnel forked suddenly, opening up beneath his open hands, and he paused, momentarily confused. He didn't know which way to go. His mouth dry, he stood . . . contemplating briefly, until the claustrophobia began to creep its way back into his subconscious . . . the claustrophobia and the monsters he had left back at the dead end.

He could feel them; pressing against his back . . . pushing down on him, until his heart was beating fiercely in his chest once more.

Making a hasty decision, he realized that he couldn't stay in the caves anymore and he turned hurriedly in the direction that he _thought _was back to the main cave.

Back to Hermione.

His head hurt. And as he moved slowly forward, the adrenaline gradually began to wear off, reminding him of the excruciating pain in his ankle.

He wandered, twisting and turning with the caves, but not really paying attention to where he was going. Exhaustion was beginning to overtake him and his decision making was affected by it.

His eyes heavy and burning, he stared into the incessant blackness, limping as his feet began to drag.

He didn't know how long he had been walking—it felt like hours—and he had lost track of how many times he had changed direction. But, he knew that it was darker—if that was even possible. The sun had set, leaving him in a hellish blackness, thick and heavy, that almost seemed to suck the breath directly from his lungs and replace it with cold.

And soon, a small nagging voice rang in the back of his mind.

It started quietly, but soon it intensified until they was screaming that he was just getting more lost . . . was going the wrong way . . . that every step he took only took him closer to imminent death, lost and alone in the darkness and degradation of the caves.

He brushed his hand by his head, as if trying to physically swat away the insecurities. He didn't care any more . . . he couldn't stop moving, because he would never get back up. So, he was dead nonetheless. His only option was to continue moving forward, trusting his instincts.

Consumed by his thoughts, Draco shuffled further and, not paying attention, stepped awkwardly. His foot rolled slightly, throwing him off balance. In an attempt to steady himself, he took a sudden, large step, but landed on his bad leg, exerting too much weight.

A sickening _crunch_ sounded around the empty cavern as his ankle gave out, snapping sideways.

Falling to the ground, he screamed, the sound ripped savagely from his throat as pain radiated through his leg—hot and stabbing—shooting up his limb and engulfing his body.

Gasping, he writhed on the floor, gripping at his ankle, and wishing for death—anything to take away the anguish. He felt nausea twist at his empty stomach, and suddenly, before he could attempt to stop it, he was retching—sobbing as he vomited violently onto the cold rocks.

He could smell the bile—sour and acidic—inches from his nose . . . could feel it dripping—hot and sticky—down his face, coating the front of his shirt.

He was engulfed in pain—every ounce of it from the time he landed in this godforsaken sinkhole brought back—and he couldn't hold on anymore. He could feel himself fading . . . welcoming anything that would take away the unbearable hurt.

Shivering, he took a broken breath, his head swimming. He was slipping away and he didn't care. Dropping his head, he silently prayed to anything that would listen that if this was to be it, to please let him not wake up again . . . he wasn't strong enough anymore.

Hermione's face flashed momentarily in front of his eyes, but he was paralyzed by pain. With a silence apology for letting her down, he felt his eyes beginning to roll and he didn't fight it.

He was finally going to the place he had dreamed of . . . the place with no cold, no hunger, no pain . . . .

And with that final thought of comfort, his eyes rolled back in his head, leaving him shivering and unconscious on the unforgiving cold slate.

* * *

It was quiet all around him—so quiet.

_I'm dead_, he thought. _I've escaped_.

A wave of relief passed over him.

He felt like he was floating—blanketed softly in a sea of solitude. Protected . . . safe and secure.

_Heaven . . . ._ He listened to the stillness with his eyes closed, a smile of contentment on his face. _This must be Heaven._

He wanted to open his eyes . . . to witness the splendor, but he was still so tired. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable—tried to go back to sleep.

An unexpected stabbing pain shot up his leg and into his hip and he whimpered—his eyebrows knit in concern.

Something was wrong . . . there was no pain in Heaven.

He moved cautiously again and this time cried out when pain radiated through his body.

His entire being throbbed with an unquenchable ache, and a new and terrifying thought suddenly came to his mind:

_I'm dead . . . and I'm in Hell_.

He shivered violently, and it took him a moment to realize that it was because of the _cold_ . . . not because of fear, and his brow creased.

_It's not cold in Hell . . . ._

Draco's eyes snapped open.

Panting, his head swimming, he blinked rapidly and tried to force his eyes to focus. Slowly, the world around him formed.

And shortly thereafter, he realized with dread that he wasn't dead . . . but he _was_ in Hell.

He could feel the cool, hard ground beneath him and he trembled, his mouth dry. He was still in the damnable hole in the Earth.

But something was different . . . .

He wasn't sure how to explain it but, as he stared, slowly letting his eyes adjust, it almost seemed _lighter_ . . . somehow.

Squinting into the shadows, murky shapes formed and seemed to float before his eyes. But he knew that was wrong—completely impossible.

Groaning, he pushed himself into a seated position. Rubbing at his forehead, he tried to soothe the soreness that stretched between his temples, before he dropped his hand to his lap.

He paused, his eyes wide.

Slowly, he moved his hand before his face and wiggled his fingers. He could vaguely see their shape, outlined in the blackness, moving back and forth—something he had never been able to see before.

It _was_ lighter, but how . . . he couldn't say.

He could feel his heart beating heavily in his chest as he carefully swiveled his head, taking in his surroundings. Stalactites hung by the ceiling, glowing eerily around their edges. Large boulders littered the ground, treacherously placed blackened masses against their backdrop.

His eyes shifted laterally in their sockets and stopped abruptly. A pale orb of light seemed to be hovering in his peripheral vision.

He froze; too scared to move, to blink . . . to breathe.

He knew it was a lie—a cruel trick his mind was playing on him and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

_I'm losing my Goddamned mind. _

Breathing evenly, he counted slowly to ten, preparing himself for the ugly truth—the truth that there was no light . . . and he was still stuck and lost in the darkness.

Finally, he brought his hands from his face and opened his eyes. The pressure that had been exerted on his retinas caused to world to become inky once more, and Draco could feel his apprehension building as he was forced to wait for his eyes to readjust.

Painstakingly slow, his surroundings formed. Soon, he could see the mammoth boulders outlined on the ground, the stalactites hanging effortlessly from the ceiling . . . and a faint circle of light settled in a corner—hovering supernaturally.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Steadily, his heart drummed against his ribs.

With shaking hands, he suddenly flipped onto his hands and knees and began crawling frantically toward the light—clawing at the ground as if the light would suddenly disappear—as if his life depended on it. . . .

Because his life _did _depend on it. And not just his . . . Hermione's as well.

Pebbles lodged beneath his fingernails as his fingers scraped at the rock, setting his nerves on fire and causing blood to ooze from his fingertips.

Ignoring all pain, he focused solely on the light in front of him—terrified it would disappear.

Slowly, it grew—gradually bathing his body in a soft glow. He could feel the wispy fingers of daylight—stretched thin—as they attempted to warm his body.

Panting, he rested on his hip and followed the light upwards. The Earth opened up above his head—a small hole that allowed the sun and the wind to enter the cavernous tunnel. Dirt inclined toward the opening, sloping at a decent grade, but nothing too steep that it was unobtainable.

Draco could see the tops of the trees, green and lush, swaying slightly in the breeze and suddenly, he was laughing.

It was odd to his ears—the sound of his laughter—as his voice echoed off of the walls. It felt strange . . . alien. But soon, he was laughing like a maniac, unable to stop as exhaustion took over his actions.

It was here.

It was here all along . . . it just didn't want to be found.

He wasn't quite sure when he had begun to cry—he was only aware, with his face turned upward, that the light was suddenly blurring in his vision, his cheeks wet with salty warmth.

Shutting his eyes, he sobbed. Tears wracked his tired and sore body, and he wrapped his arms around his torso tightly.

He had found it. He had found it and he wasn't going to let it go.

He was mere feet from his freedom—inches away from ending his pain.

But something was stopping him.

Wiping at his eyes, he sniffled as he turned his head back and forth between the light that he was faced with, and the darkness behind him—suddenly torn.

It should be an easy decision.

He felt uplifted in the daylight—airy, as if a weight had been lifted from his broken body.

And when he looked into the darkness . . . .

He shuddered as fear and pain sunk into his very being once more.

But his words were suddenly echoing in his head: _I'll come back for you. You have my word._

He could see Hermione in his mind—shivering, small and fragile—depending on him.

He had to go back for her. He had promised.

But what if he couldn't find her again? What if he, himself, got lost? He was free right now.

He could leave. Get out, head back to the castle . . . . bring back help. She had told him to—to get out if he could . . . leave her . . . go get help. She would be alright. She had said so, herself.

But what if he couldn't find the castle? He would be free, but it was just as cold out in the forest. And there were beasts and other creatures . . . .

Or, what if he found the castle and couldn't find his way back to Hermione?

She would die. There was no doubt in his mind.

He didn't know what to do. His mind ran wildly, circling his options as he continued to shift his focus from light to dark.

Could he even make it back to Hermione? And if he did, could he remember how to get back to the exit?

He looked toward the light.

Could he even make it back to the castle? Make it by himself?

He looked toward the dark.

But, could _she _make it, if he did go back. Wouldn't his best option to make sure that _one _of them survived? Because he wasn't even certain that she would . . . and was it worth putting his own life on the line as well?

She might already be dead . . . .

There was a harsh twinge of reality as the words came to his mind: _She might already be dead . . . . _

But, he wasn't. He wasn't and he was facing his freedom.

But could he leave? Without knowing for sure?

The sun was high in the sky, but he knew that it wouldn't last much longer. He had to make a decision and quickly if he had any prayer of utilizing any of the remaining daylight.

But he didn't know what to do.

His mouth dry, he looked one final time—light . . . dark . . . light . . . dark . . . .

Praying that he was making the right decision, he pushed himself to his feet and, limping, slowly moved forward once more.


	9. In Dreams

**Chapter 9:**

**In Dreams**

_Hermione was lying on her back in the soft grass on the shores of the Lake. _

_She was warm._

_The sun was shining. _

_She knew this place—knew the cool wind that blew gently across her body; knew the soft heat that warmed her skin; knew the smells, the sounds . . . the euphoria. _

_She also knew that it was a dream._

_But, she didn't care. To her, this was Heaven._

_Lazily, she passed her hands over the long grass, smiling as the blades ran through her fingers. They tickled her flesh and she sighed contently._

_Her eyes shut, she breathed evenly, and allowed the sun to warm her as she relished in the feeling of the wind that gently blew through her hair._

_She was happy . . . she was healthy . . . but most of all, she didn't hurt anymore._

_And she was warm . . . finally warm._

_Because the sun was shining._

_Smiling, she slowly allowed her eyes to open._

_The sun was bright—momentarily whiting out her vision. Squinting, she blinked rapidly and waited for her eyes to adjust._

_And gradually, the world around her came into focus._

_Looking upward, she stared at the sky in awe. It was clear and bright—a brilliant shade of blue—and she felt her chest tighten slightly. She had been in the darkness for so long, that she had almost forgotten how beautiful the sky was. _

_It was so open and free, without walls or barriers—not constricting and claustrophobic like the god-forsaken hole she had been stuck in._

_And the light . . . . Oh, the light. It shone upon her—warming her body, illuminating everything that she was so scared of, allowing her to see the beauty once again and finally fear no more._

_She never wanted to leave . . . . No, she always wanted to stay here, by the Lake, in the Heavenly light._

_She suddenly heard movement. But, she wasn't scared . . . ._

_She wasn't scared because she already knew what going to happen. And she knew that she never had to be afraid again. _

_She turned her head to the side._

_The grass was inordinately green—majestic as it almost appeared to dance in the breeze—and it momentarily took her breath away. But she couldn't keep her eyes trained on its beauty because she finally saw what her heart had been yearning for:_

_Harry and Ron were slowly making their way toward her._

_Tears began to stream from her eyes, soaking her cheeks before dropping onto the exquisite grass. She couldn't help it. Her heart was filled with so much happiness that she no longer cared that this was a dream. _

_This was her Heaven. She never wanted to leave this place._

_A thought abruptly came to her mind, erasing all emotion._

_Did she have to leave here? _

_If this was just a dream, could she choose to stay here forever?_

_Could she just _decide_ to never to wake up?_

_Sitting upright, she hastily brushed at her face with her fingertips before slowly scanning her new world. As her eyes shifted—taking it all in—she was filled with more and more peace._

_She stopped thinking._

_She no longer cared about logic, or consequence, or fear, or who she would leave behind. She just knew that her mind was made up: She was going to stay here._

_Pushing herself to her feet, she began to walk toward Harry and Ron._

_A wide smile spread across Harry's face. Taking two large steps, he crossed the remaining distance, grabbed her, and enveloped her in a deep, warm hug._

_Inhaling deeply, Hermione breathed in his scent. _

_She was aware of his heart beating steadily inside of his chest; she could feel his body heat warming her even more; she could hear his breath as he inhaled and exhaled evenly; but mostly, she could sense his energy pulsating through her, bringing her back from the dead. _

_Pulling away, she turned toward Ron. Reaching toward him, she allowed his arms to wrap around her tightly. _

_Shutting her eyes, she pressed her face into his chest. "Is this real?" _

_In response, Ron stroked her hair gently, pushing it away from her face. _

_Looking up, she cupped his face lightly. "Can I stay here, with you both, forever?"_

_He smiled down at her. "Hermione."_

_Staring into his eyes, she sighed in satisfaction. "Say it again."_

"_Hermione."_

_A large lump formed in her throat._

"_Hermione, open your eyes."_

_Blinking, Hermione furrowed her brow. "What?"_

"_You need to open your eyes."_

"_I don't understa—" _

_Her breath suddenly caught in her throat, causing her words to die away._

_Ron's eyes were changing—rippling outward as if a rock had been thrown into a deep blue sea. Slowly, they changed from a dazzling blue—dulling in color, but not in shine._

_Her mouth agape, she watched as they turned a luminous shade of silver._

"_Ron?" She swallowed thickly._

_His face began to morph. _

_Unblinking, Hermione watched as he abruptly started to transform. His features thinned, becoming sharper—more pointed._

_His skin started to pale as the freckles disappeared. _

_Dark circles appeared underneath his eyes and dirt, mixed with blood, streaked sporadically across his flesh._

_Shaggy blond hair fell over his forehead. _

_She was now staring into the hurt, tired face of Draco._

_She pulled her hand away from his face as if she had been burned. Twisting her head, she looked over her shoulder, frantically searching for Harry—but he was nowhere to be found._

_Turning her attention back to Draco, she felt tears pressing against the corners of her eyes. She swallowed around the lump that had formed in her throat, and shook her head slowly. "No . . . no. Please, bring them back."_

_Reaching out, Draco grabbed her hand. His flesh was cold against hers, and she felt the heat being sucked from her body. _

_He squeezed her hand gently. "I need you to wake up, Hermione."_

_She pulled against him. "No. I want to stay here."_

_Looking her deep in the eyes, he tightened his grip. "You need to wake up. You need to come find me."_

_Hermione furrowed her brow. "You're right here . . . ."_

"_No. You need to get up. You need to go."_

_Hermione looked around her—at the wide, open space—and raised her shoulders. "Go where?"_

_Draco tipped his head over his shoulder._

_Hermione looked past him and the color drained from her face._

_It wasn't there before . . . she was sure of it. But now, the opening of the cave loomed, dark and menacing, across the magnificent grass. _

_Hermione shook her head and jerked her hand from his. "No . . . no, I can't." _

"_Yes, you can."_

_Hermione's eyebrows lifted hopefully. "You can stay here . . . with me. Please, stay here."_

"_I can't. And neither can you." _

"_Why? Why can't we just stay here? It's so beautiful here."_

_Draco shook his head, his eyes suddenly sad. "Hermione, I'm dying . . . . And if you don't leave, you'll die too. I need you. I need you to come find me. Please . . . ."_

_Biting her lip, Hermione's eyes drifted from his face. Slowly, she scanned her surroundings once more. _

_She didn't want to leave—didn't want to leave the light, the warmth, or the safety and security of the Lake._

_She didn't care if she died. She was going to stay here forever—happy with Harry, Ron, and Draco—basking in the Heavenly light._

_Her conscience was suddenly nagging at the edge of her mind. _She_ didn't care if she died . . . but what about Draco. He was asking for her help. He needed her._

_But he could stay here, with her. They could live in this paradise forever, and never feel pain again._

_Lost in thought, Hermione didn't notice as a single dark cloud formed and began to snake its way across the immaculate sky. Slowly, it fanned out, reaching out like fingers attached to a demonic hand until it reached the sun. _

_Her perfect world darkened and, gasping, Hermione looked up in panic._

_The sky was quickly becoming darker—ominous—as more clouds formed across the sky._

_Hermione's mouth went dry and she shrunk away from the quickly developing shadows, as if the darkness could hurt her. "No . . . no, please, no."_

_She was cold._

_The sun was gone._

"_Draco . . . ." _

_Turning her attention from the sky, she felt a wave of panic rush through her as she realized Draco was gone._

_Frantically, she looked around—tears forming, hot and heavy, in the corners of her eyes._

"_Draco?"_

_Without warning, her perfect world suddenly began to disappear, as if a giant black hole had opened up beneath her. Rapidly it began to swallow all of the beautiful elements—erasing everything good that she had just been experiencing. Darkness enveloped her as the field folded in on itself, becoming barren and leaving her completely deserted . . . except for the godforsaken mouth of the cave._

_She was alone again. _

_All alone in the dismal gloom. _

_Her heart beat painfully against her ribs. She felt panic welling up inside. She couldn't breathe. It felt like an eternity had passed since she was happy and warm—in the light with her best friends._

"_Draco?" _

_She wrapped her arms around her body and tightly hugged her torso._

"_Draco?"_

_She could see the outline of the demon-filled cavern threatening in the distance. And, although she couldn't quite exactly pinpoint exactly when—or _how_—she was able to muster the strength, her feet were suddenly moving. _

_Gradually, she shuffled forward in fear, bringing her closer to her own, personal Hell._

_She took one final glance over her shoulder and then, shaking in terror, she entered the cave._

_The blackness swallowed her whole._

_She turned back toward the entrance, but the last hint of any light was gone._

"_Draco?" Her voice echoed eerily. "Draco? Please, answer me!" _

_She no longer wanted to be in this nightmare. She wanted to wake up._

_Slowly, she slid to the ground and pulled her knees up to her chest._

_Closing her eyes, she rubbed at her temples. "Wake up, Hermione . . . c'mon . . . please . . . . This is just a dream . . . it's just a dream . . . ." She covered her face with her hands._

_Bowing her head into her legs, she listened to the sound of her breathing and tried to get her heart to stop pounding in her chest._

"_Hermione?"_

_With a scream, Hermione's head snapped up. _

_Draco was crouching before her, his face inches from her own. _

_Lunging forward, Hermione flung herself into his arms. She clung to him tightly—her fingers clawing into his back—as if he would suddenly disappear if she loosened her grip. _

_Struggling to catch her breath, she pressed her face into his chest and tried to refrain from sobbing._

_Draco hand brushed gently over her hair as he tried to soothe her._

_Finally, he pulled away and gripped her lightly by the shoulders. "Hermione, we've got to go. Okay?"_

_Sniffling loudly, Hermione nodded. _

_Draco helped her to her feet. _

_Reaching out, Hermione clutched his hand with both of hers and, sightless, allowed him to lead her deeper into the gloom._

_Slowly they moved on in silence, their footsteps, mixed with their heightened breathing, the only sound._

_Carefully, his hand outstretched in front of him, Draco twisted and turned as he guided her through the crooked tunnels._

_Hermione's eyes had adjusting slightly, allowing her to see the murky silhouette of Draco before her, but nothing past that, no matter how long she stared into the inky shadows._

"_Where are we going?"_

_Draco spoke without turning. "I think I've found a way out."_

_Hermione's heart soared._

_Abruptly, Draco halted to a stop. Breathing heavily through his nose, he looked over his shoulder and peered into the gloom, as if he could clearly see what was behind them. _

_Hermione followed his gaze, but even with her eyes adjusted, she couldn't see anything through the shadows. "What's wrong?"_

_Draco shook his head, "nothing." But his voice was weird—tight—and Hermione felt her mouth go dry for reasons unknown._

_Pulling at her hand, Draco began to move once more, but his pace was quicker than before. _

_Hastily, he moved through the tunnels, pulling her deeper into the obscurity, periodically slowing to look over his shoulder. _

_Hermione could tell that something was wrong . . . terribly wrong. "Draco . . . please."_

_Pausing, Draco turned and faced her. "It's okay, okay? We're going to be just fi—" He stopped abruptly, his head cocked to one side as he listened intently, his breath caught in his throat. _

"_Draco?"_

"_Shhh." Draco's hand quickly covered her mouth. She could taste the dirt and grime on his skin. _

_Seconds passed painfully. _

_Draco's hand was still pressed tightly over Hermione's mouth. She was frozen, but adrenaline was pumping through her veins, causing her nerve endings to tingle. Blood throbbed in her ears, covering any noise around her. _

_Draco's breath hitched and his hand instantly left her mouth. "We gotta move."_

_Without waiting for a response, Draco's steps lengthened as he began to pull her._

_Her heart pounding in fear, Hermione almost had to run to keep up. "Why?"_

_But then she heard it: a loud scraping sound that echoed demonically off of the rock walls._

_She felt like she was going to vomit. "No . . . no, not again."_

_A growl sounded—low and menacing—from deep within the shadows._

_Encased in fear, they were suddenly running._

_Their feet pounded against the ground, but it didn't drown out the sound of the beast behind them. Hermione gripped Draco's hand as she ran blindly. She could smell the monster—it's stench a putrid mix of blood and rotting flesh . . . the smell of death._

_She looked behind her as she ran, although she knew it would do no good. She just wanted to see it . . . she wanted to face her fear. But, she could see nothing—she could only _feel_ the creature closing in._

_Turning forward, she suddenly lost her footing and stumbled. Her momentum caused her to fall forward and her hand slipped from Draco's._

_Hermione frantically clawed the darkness, reaching out for Draco. But, he wasn't there._

_She was suddenly alone and could feel the terror building. _

"_Draco?"_

_Her voice bounced emptily off the walls._

"_Draco!" _

"_Hermione, shhhhhhhh!" His voice came from deep within the shadows._

_Taking a calming breath, she lowered her voice to a whisper. "Where are you?"_

"_I'm not far. I'll find you. Just stay put."_

_She wrung her hands together nervously. "Please, hurry."_

_She could hear him moving through the shadows._

_Her breathing ragged, she slowly counted his steps in her head, and willed her nerves to settle. _

_His feet suddenly stopped, blanketing her in silence once more. _

_Seconds passed and Hermione's heart began to beat heavily in her chest._

_Leaning forward into the darkness, hot tears pressed against the corners of her eyes. "Draco?"_

_A new noise came from behind her, startling her. _

_A chill rippled up her back as she sat upright, as if a steel rod had been welded to her spine. Her eyes wide and unseeing, she trembled as fear radiated throughout her entire body._

_She could hear it—her demon—moving slowly through the darkness, shuffling slowly . . . its sharpened claws scraping the ground as it drew closer._

_Placing her hands on the ground behind her, she slid backwards, pushing herself as quietly as possible. Slowly, she moved, trying to hide deeper in the darkness. _

_Her foot slipped suddenly, sending a rock skidding across the floor._

_The beast stopped abruptly and, although it was dark, Hermione could tell it was now peering through the darkness, looking in her general direction. _

_Her breath hitched involuntarily, and she pressed her hand tightly over her mouth to silence herself. Breathing carefully through her nose, she used one hand to slip further away from the monster. _

_When her back hit the coolness of the wall, her heart stopped momentarily. She could hear it sniffing—its breath rancid as it moved closer, investigating in her general direction. She felt like a trapped animal . . . unable to escape the clutches of her predator. _

_Holding her breath, she shut her eyes and tried to become invisible._

_She could feel it pressing in . . . getting closer—and louder as it nosed toward her hiding spot._

_Tears fell silently down her cheeks, a hot reminder of her perpetual fear._

_She pulled further away, pressing harder against the cool wall—wishing she could sink into it and disappear. _

_She could suddenly feel its breath on her face—the putrid, fetid breath of the damned—and she prepared herself for the attack._

"_Hermione?"_

_Draco's voice sounded lightly from the shadows. _

_Hermione's eyes widened in fear, but she knew that she couldn't yell out to him._

_Instead, she shook her head, silently willing him to stop._

"_Hermione? Where are you?"_

_The slight increase in volume was all it took. With a snort the creature's attention turned abruptly from Hermione. _

_Her chin trembled from behind her hand as she heard the beast advance on her unsuspecting cellmate, a growl building deep in its chest._

_Draco heard the beast advancing and had stopped moving. "Hermione? Is that you?" _

_She could hear the fear in his voice. Hear that he didn't really believe it was her, but not wanting to believe it could be the Devil himself coming for him._

_His voice wavered. "Hermione?"_

_Without warning, the creature howled—a terrifying screech that originated from deep within its belly and echoed violently off the walls._

_Hermione's hands flew to her ears as the sound solidified in her bones._

_And Draco was suddenly screaming._

_Pressing her hands tightly on either side of her head, Hermione tried to block the sound, but it was too loud. Even with her hands covering her ears, she could hear the assault._

_The beast growled and snarled—snapping viciously. _

_Hermione had to fight the urge to vomit as she heard the first sound of the monster's teeth tearing into Draco's flesh._

_She gagged and had to uncover one ear in order to press her hand tightly against her mouth to keep the bile down._

_Silently crying, she turned her open ear toward the wall, and tried to silence the sounds that were coming from deep within the gloom._

_Draco was now screaming in pain. _

_Hermione could hear him struggling against his attacker, but by the sound of its claws shredding his skin, she knew that it was a losing battle._

"_Hermione!" _

_He was yelling—yelling for her help—and she was powerless._

_Pulling her knees to her chest, Hermione fought her own demons. _

_Draco was crying, his screams echoing—engulfing her until it sounded like he was all around her._

_She willed herself to wake up. She couldn't handle the nightmare anymore._

_But, what if this wasn't a nightmare?_

_What if this was her reality. _

_What if she had died in the cave, and instead of the perfect Heaven she had experienced with Harry and Ron beside the beautiful lake, she was stuck in this Hell: Dark and cold, forced to hear Draco dying forever. Perhaps even dying herself—over and over—with no option to wake up._

"_Hermione! Run!"_

_It was a frantic plea—but she was too frozen to move._

_With a final growl, she could hear the beast ripping into Draco's throat. _

"_RUN!" _

_He was suffocating, choking on his own blood—his cries turning guttural. _

_His gurgling snapped her out of her motionless state._

_Adrenaline surged through her veins as she pushed herself to her feet. _

_Turning, she began to run blindly. Pushing off the walls, her arms outstretched, she moved through the tunnels—twisting and turning as she tripped over rocks and holes she couldn't see._

_The monster heard her._

_It howled again—the noise a mixture of fury and excitement._

_She could hear it on her heels, and the horror of its face materialized in her head—Draco's blood dripping, hot and frothy, from its fangs._

_It was gaining on her. She could hear it—panting as it chased her. She could smell it—the rotten stench of decomposing flesh._

_She took a hard turn, spinning around a corner. _

_She was beginning to tire—her days without food or protection catching up with her._

_She gripped her side, willing the splitting pain to go away. _

_She knew she wouldn't last. Knew that she was going to have the same fate as Draco . . . and it terrified her. She didn't mind that she would die . . . she just didn't want the pain the creature would bring._

_Gasping for air, she slowed and tried to listen._

_It was eerily quiet._

_Her face wet with tears, she spun erratically, trying to see through the darkness. _

_She wrapped arms tightly around torso. Crying, she whispered into the darkness: "Draco, please . . . . Please, come back. I can't do this without you."_

_But she knew that Draco wouldn't come back._

_Because Draco was dead. _

_And she would soon be next. She could imagine the feeling of the beast sinking its teeth into her skin, ripping and tearing her muscles as it slowly consumed her. Would she die right away? Or would she have to endure an elongated suffering?_

_She strained her ears, but still couldn't hear anything. Where did it go? Was it sneaking toward her, smarter in the darkness than she was? _

_Her jaw trembling, she was beginning to hyperventilate in the silence._

_Unable to control herself, she screamed—the sound ripped from her throat and echoed hollowly off the walls._

_She was too tired—too tired to fight the inevitable._

_Reaching out, she found the wall. Leaning against it, she slid slowly to the ground and covered her ears. Rocking, she pulled her legs up to her chest and put her face in her knees._

"_Please . . . please, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me."_

A hand gently touched her face. "Hermione? Hermione, can you hear me?"

"Don't leave me . . . don't leave me . . . please, don't leave me."

"I'm not going to leave you . . . but you need to open your eyes, honey."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "Please, just make it stop."

"It's over . . . I promise. You just need to open your eyes."

She shook her head, stubbornly not willing to believe that it was over. Yet, she couldn't help but feel as if something were different.

The sun was shining on her face, warming her slightly, but she couldn't seem to force her eyes open against it.

She turned her head away in pain. "I can't. It hurts too much."

"Hold on."

She heard movement, but couldn't tell what was going on.

The light abruptly turned off—_the sun?_—and Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.

She could feel someone sitting near her, and their hand was suddenly over hers.

"Come on, Hermione. Try again."

Inhaling deeply, Hermione steadied her nerves and allowed her eyes to open—even though she knew full well what she would see.

Blinking rapidly, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dimness . . . and her heart suddenly stopped.

She knew this place . . . and it wasn't the godforsaken hole she had been trapped in.

The walls were white—brilliant even in the dim lighting. She was soft and warm, her head resting on a plush pillow.

A pitcher of water sat on a table next to her bed, and her mouth throbbed in thirst. But she wasn't able to focus on that because beside the pitcher was . . . her wand.

She shook her head. "No . . . no, this isn't real."

The person holding her hand squeezed gently. "It is real. You're safe now."

She turned her head and tears suddenly brimmed: Brilliant green eyes were staring back at her.

Her mouth went dry. "Harry?"

Harry smiled. "And Ron. Madame Pomfrey just stepped away, but she'll be back soon."

"We're glad you're back. You had us worried." Ron sat down on the other side of the bed.

Hermione cleared her throat. "How long—?"

Harry looked down at his feet uncomfortably. "You were missing for almost four days . . . you've been unconscious here for three. You've been screaming and talking nearly the whole time."

Hermione tried to sit up and her head pounded in protest.

Ron gently pressed against her shoulder. "Don't try to sit up. You hit your head pretty hard and need to take it slow."

She laid her head against the pillow once more. "How did I get here? How did my wand end up here?"

Her nightmare, still fresh in her mind, reemerged and, in a panic, she tried to sit up once more. "Where's Draco?"

It was Harry's turn to push her back down gently. "We'll explain what we know, but later. Now, you need to rest."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry placed his finger gently over her lips. "Later . . . . I promise. Now, just close your eyes and rest. We're not going anywhere."

Hermione didn't fight anymore. She hadn't realized it before, but she was exhausted—physically and emotionally.

She closed her eyes and immediately felt herself slowly drifting away as Harry gently brushed her hair away from her face.

_A/N: As always, sorry to keep you waiting. I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. And don't worry . . . I do have the next part in my head already (I am not _that _mean . . . LOL). I just have to get it down on paper. So, any ideas? How did they get out? Where is Draco? Would Mister Farmer have gotten away with it if it weren't for those meddling kids? Please read and review to let me know your thoughts! Thanks much _


	10. Questions Answered

_A:N: Thank you all so very much for your continued support! I was so happy to see that people were still into this story, even after such an _unforgivable_ amount of time had passed between updates. But, there's good news . . . My muse is back! I have made it over the hellish hump that is writer's block. And all of your kind words have actually made me go in a slightly different direction. I'm very excited by the change. It's almost like a brand new story _

_So, I will continue to do my best to keep the updates coming, as long as you keep on reviewing! Thanks again. You guys rock!_

**Chapter 10:**

**Questions Answered**

Hermione woke with a start, her face wet with tears.

In a cold sweat, she sat straight up and she tried to swallow the scream that threatened to rip from her throat.

Trembling—blood pulsing loudly in her ears—she tried to erase the horrific images that still swam in her head.

She hadn't been able to sleep well since she had been back. Every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares came.

For days, she had slept fretfully, waking often, and was now tired—exhausted—but was too terrified to go back to sleep.

Blinking rapidly, her eyes began to focus.

And as they focused, panic welled within her as she realized that the darkness had transferred over from her nightmare.

Someone had turned off the light; something she begged them not to do.

Now, she couldn't see anything around her, and it paralyzed her with fear.

It was ridiculous.

She _knew_ it had been a nightmare—knew that she was now safe and secure, warm and protected in her bed in the hospital wing, but that didn't stop the terrifying thoughts that were invading her mind: The thoughts of demons and pain lurking in the darkness . . . coming to find her . . . to hurt her.

She couldn't get away . . . and she couldn't stand the darkness.

Frantically, she groped for the light beside her bed, but her hands were shaking so terribly, she knocked it off the table.

It landed on the ground with a loud clatter, and a garbled sound—a cry mixed with ache and terror—escaped Hermione's lips.

Unable to move with the blackness swirling around her, she pulled her knees up to her chest.

She could feel herself beginning to hyperventilate.

In the darkness, all of her nightmares were flooding her subconscious—vivid and real.

Draco was suddenly screaming—the sound reverberating through her mind as the monster repeatedly tore into his flesh—and she covered her ears to block out his cries.

Her stomach churned violently and she felt as if she would vomit.

Rocking—her hands pressed tightly on either side of her head—she felt fresh tears form and spill from her eyes, rewetting her cheeks like molten fire before dripping onto her blanket-covered knees. "Please . . . please, someone turn on the light . . . please. I can't . . . I just can't . . . the light . . . ."

Her heart beat painfully against her ribs as the seconds slogged on.

She was sobbing, the tears wracking her body.

She was lost in the paralyzing darkness of her mind, surrounded by sounds of pain and anguish.

But suddenly, there was something new:

Holding her breath, she strained her ears and was just barely able to hear it through everything, but she held onto it with all of her might.

It was her Angel of Mercy.

Loosening the vice that her hands had created on her ears, she forced in slow, even breaths and listened carefully—holding on to the noise as if she were lost in an angry black ocean, and the new sounds were a life raft.

A voice, soft and deep in timbre, was muttering gently—uttering soothing words that broke through the murkiness of the room.

There was a scraping sound as the lamp was gently picked up off of the floor and placed on the night stand once more.

With a single click, the room was bathed in soft light, and Hermione finally felt that she could breathe again—as if a pressing weight had suddenly been lifted off of her chest.

Her eyes remained closed as she focused on inhaling and exhaling. She was vaguely aware that her visitor was still talking, but she couldn't make out any words, as she was concentrating on calming herself.

She felt sudden pressure next to her, as her guest sat gently on the edge of the bed.

Refusing to allow her tear-streaked face to be seen, she turned her head away and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Wrapping her arms tightly around her legs, she laid her cheek on her knees and finally opened her eyes.

The room was only dimly lit by the small table lamp, but it was enough to cause her panic to diminish slightly.

Seeing the blank white walls surrounding her simple, clean bed reinforced the fact that she was out of harm's way, safe and secure in the hospital wing—although the gruesome images of her nightmare still remained—sharp and life-like—at the edges of her psyche.

Suddenly remembering about her guest, she pushed all thought aside. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed thickly—her throat dry. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The soft drawl shot through her, twisting her gut with a feeling that she couldn't explain.

She was scared to turn her head . . . afraid of what she would see . . . but she couldn't bear the silence, filled only with his soft, even breathing.

So, she summoned the courage.

Hastily, she wiped her eyes with her fingertips and turned her head.

He was sitting on the edge of her bed, his hands resting lightly on his knees as stared blankly across the empty room.

Hermione's eyes traveled up his back—straight and strong. Slowly, she took in his wide shoulders and pristine platinum hair that was brushed smoothly against the back of his neck.

She watched, mesmerized, as his ribs expanded and contracted with each deep, rhythmic breath.

"I get them too, you know." He was speaking into the open air, his voice slightly haunted. ". . . The nightmares . . . ."

He turned his head.

Even in the low lighting, Hermione could see the faint remnants of bruises beneath his eyes. They spread, bluish and ghostly, magnifying the molten color of his irises.

In the silence, their eye locked momentarily—steel against chocolate—and Draco finally cleared his throat uncomfortably.

Shifting his gaze from hers, he began to pick aimlessly at his fingernail. "I'm sorry I stopped by so late. I just, um . . . wanted to see you—to see if you were okay."

Hermione's face blanched. "Jesus, Malfoy. I should be saying the same thing about you! It's been days. Nobody's been able to tell me anything, because nobody _knows_ anything!"

Draco bowed his head. "They don't know anything because I haven't told them anything."

Hermione's mouth slackened. "What?"

"Look, I just . . . I needed some time. I've been away for a few days—resting . . . _processing_ . . . . I just couldn't handle it all right away."

"But you didn't tell them anything?"

Draco head snapped toward her. Staring her in the eye once more, his expression was suddenly challenging. "You _know_ why I haven't told them anything."

Hermione gasped lightly, her mouth growing dry.

Exhaling, her face softened.

Anxiously, she bit at her lip, her eye brows tightening above her eyes. "Actually, I _don't_ know."

"What?"

Hermione could feel tears welling again. Lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she prayed that the tears wouldn't betray her by spilling down her cheeks. "Look, I hit my head pretty hard and . . . um . . . I don't really remember what happened."

Draco twisted until he was facing her. "You don't remember anything?"

"Well, I remember Hagrid's class . . . and _how_ we got there. . . ." She glared angrily at Draco until he averted his eyes. Licking her lips, she continued:

"But most of all," Hermione voice softened, "I remember falling . . . and the pain . . . and the cold . . . ." She inhaled sharply, breaking off in a sob and covered her mouth with her hand.

Shaking her head, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just . . . well, anything past that, I can't really remember if it was a dream or if it was real. It's all just so muddled."

She dropped her head.

Slowly, Draco reached out and gently brushed a tear from her cheek.

Hermione flinched at his touch. "What are you doing?"

Draco pulled his hand back as if it had been burned.

A flush rose in his cheeks and he licked his lips nervously. "Hermione, there was one night where we. . . ." He trailed off.

She was staring at him, her expression questioning. "Where we what?"

He cleared his throat. "Um . . . where we . . . ."

He searched her face, his eyes soft as he looked for the right words.

Finally, he sighed.

Dejectedly, his shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the world were suddenly on them. "Look, we almost died. And you saved my life . . . in more ways than one. And other than that, it just doesn't matter."

"No, no it _does _matter. Why are you hiding things from me?"

"There are things you don't need to know."

"That's bullshit, Malfoy, and you know it!

Draco shook his head stubbornly. "No . . . if you don't remember, then you're lucky."

Hermione sighed, too tired to press the issue. "Fine . . . but would you at least explain to me how we ended up here?"

Draco's eyes locked on hers. His jaw tightened in thought, as if he were contemplating exactly what to say.

He shifted his gaze from her.

Turning his body, he faced the empty room once more.

He sat in silence for so long, that Hermione thought at first that he wasn't going to answer the question. But finally, he opened his mouth and spoke, his voice hollow: "There were these tunnels . . . ."

The blood drained from Hermione's face as her nightmare sparked fresh in her mind.

"We didn't know where they led, or if we'd even be able to get out, but we had to try." He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "We weren't going to make it through another night."

His words caused a shiver traveled up Hermione's spine, but she remained in silence, waiting for him to continue.

Draco took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Our plan was to go in together . . . you know, just in case . . . ."

He trailed off, lost in thought and Hermione's stomach twisted into a knot.

Finally, he cleared his throat, snapping out of his trance. "But you were sick."

Hermione thought she heard his voice crack with emotion, but he continued so quickly she couldn't be sure.

"So I went by myself. And eventually found a slope that lead out."

He stopped, silence filling the room once more.

Seconds passed, but he didn't move, as if his story was done.

Questions were raging in Hermione's head, and she finally couldn't hold them in any longer. "So you went back to the castle and got help."

It was a statement, more than a question.

Draco shook his head slowly. "I came back for you."

Hermione's throat abruptly tightened. "Why would you do that? You could have just saved yourself."

Draco sat in silence, deep in thought.

Finally, he turned her head and caught her eye. "Because I promised you. Besides, you saved my life . . . I felt it only right to return the favor."

"How did you find your way through the tunnels again?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I don't really know. I guess I just forced myself to remember . . . because our lives depended on it."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed with sudden anger. "So, what . . . that's it? I mean, you just came all the way back, got me, found your way out again, and got us back to the castle? Just like that?"

Draco shrugged. "I guess. I went back a few days later and found our wands in the clearing. We must have thrown them when we fell."

Hermione glanced over at her wand that was on the bedside table before turning her attention back to Draco. "And you did this all for me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I told you already . . . you saved my life first."

"How? How did I save your life?"

"That's not important."

Draco ran a hand through his hair and Hermione swallowed her rebuttal, suddenly frozen as his robe fell back and revealed a bandage wrapped tightly around his forearm. Light streaks of blood had begun to bleed through the cloth—angry red slashes that zigzagged across the length of his arm and shone against the brilliant white of the dressing.

Leaning forward, she grabbed his arm. "What is this?"

Draco glanced down at his arm, his eyes wide.

Roughly, he pulled his arm away and quickly recovered it with the fabric of his robe. "It's nothing."

Hermione shook her head angrily. "No . . . no, don't tell me it's 'nothing.' Where did you get it?"

Draco turned his gaze from her, refusing to look her in the eye, but remained silent.

Without warning, Hermione's chin began to tremble—her mouth dry in fear. "The tunnels?" She could hardly muster the whisper.

Draco's silence only confirmed her suspicions.

Her eyes wide, she felt her hands begin to tremble.

"It was real . . . it was all real."

Draco reached forward and gripped her hand. "What was real?"

"The dreams . . . no . . . the _nightmares_. They were all real. And that means . . . ." She broke off, a sob caught in her throat.

"Shhh . . . shhh. Hermione, it's okay."

Hermione shook her head, her eyes squeezed shut. "No . . . no it's not okay. There was _something_ in those goddamned tunnels. I _told _you there was something! Something from Hell that was there to hurt us . . . that _did _hurt you . . . but you wouldn't listen. You wouldn't listen and you _died_. I had to _hear _you dying . . . over and over . . . and then, you left me. You left me all alone with that creature . . . in the darkness . . . ."

She could feel hysteria building in her chest. The nightmarish pictures were suddenly in her head and, no matter what she did, she couldn't get the horrific images to leave her mind.

She saw Draco's flesh being shredded from his body . . . felt the claws tearing into her back . . . and her stomach churned violently.

All at once, she was sick—fighting back the bile that threatened from her mouth with her hand.

Retching, she leaned over the side of the bed and lost the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

Draco's hand was on her back, rubbing large, soothing circles until she straightened and, swallowing thickly, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Here, drink this." Draco poured a glass of water from the pitcher that was on the table beside her bed and handed it to her.

Hermione grabbed it and brought it to her lips. Greedily, she pulled the water into her mouth, drinking as if her life depended on it.

Swallowing too quickly, she choked—gagging the liquid back into the glass.

"Whoa . . . whoa . . . slow down." Draco's hand was suddenly on hers, pulling the glass away from her lips.

Panting, Hermione locked eyes with him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Draco released her hand. "I told you . . . if you don't remember, you're lucky. You didn't need to know everything."

"What else aren't you telling me?"

"That's it. I swear." An expression that Hermione couldn't name crossed his face, but his eyes were sincere.

He sighed lightly. "But I think for now, we should be done. You need to rest."

He stood, and Hermione felt an unexpected emptiness inside of her chest as his close presence was gone.

He stood, his back facing her, but he didn't move. Seconds of silence ticked by before he finally spoke: "For whatever it's worth . . . no matter what you believe . . . I never left you."

He didn't turn when he spoke, and Hermione felt something pull inside of her chest, but she couldn't explain why.

"Goodnight." Slowly, he began to make his way across the room, disappearing little by little as the shadows swallowed him.

Hermione watched him leave, her mouth slightly open, but no words filled it.

She couldn't take his eyes off of his retreating back . . . and that's when she noticed that something was different—something wasn't right.

Normally, Draco stood tall and confident as he walked. But now, he was hunched slightly, the poise of a man beaten—limping faintly as he favored his right leg.

A vivid picture flashed in Hermione's mind and she cried out to him. "Wait . . . you were hurt . . . your ankle . . . I remember . . . ."

Draco stopped, his head bowed.

Taking a deep breath, he turned. "Yeah, well, no need to worry. Madam Pomfrey fixed me up . . . good as new."

"But, you're limping."

Draco smiled thinly. "She did what she could . . . what _anyone _could. You see, she's easily able to mend broken bones . . . not nerve damage."

Hermione gasped. "You mean, you're going to limp like that forever?"

Draco shrugged. "At least we're alive."

"So, you're telling me that you did everything on a severely broken ankle? Didn't you lean on me for support?"

"Sometimes . . . but Hermione, you were really sick."

Hermione's eyes glistened with tears. "I don't understand why that matters . . ."

He paused. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes were suddenly sad. "It matters because when you couldn't go on anymore, I carried you."


	11. Memories From A Not So Distant Past

**Chapter 11:**

**Memories From A Not So Distant Past**

"This way . . . easy now . . . watch your head . . . ."

With an arm wrapped tightly around Hermione's waist, Harry gripped her forearm gently as he helped her through the Fat Lady's portrait and into the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Harry, I appreciate your concern, but really . . . I'm not an invalid." Hermione was laughing, but still allowed him to lead her, leaning heavily against his body.

She loved the way he felt against her—warm and familiar.

But more importantly, it was a tangible reminder that this was real—that _he_ was real—and there was no more fear of waking up to find herself trapped in her nightmare.

For the last two weeks, Hermione had been confined to the hospital wing, recuperating from her endeavor in the Forbidden Forest. Every waking moment she spent dwelling on the past that she couldn't remember—trying to piece together the story, but never quite knowing if her memories were real or imaginary.

Her friends and Housemates had remained a constant staple by her bedside, doing their best to distract her with entertaining stories about their classes, the newest standings in Quidditch, and of all the newest rumors that were flying around Hogwarts—all except the one rumor that Hermione _knew_ was on everyone's lips:

The rumor of what had happened to her and Draco.

She knew that rumors were flying around the student body . . . knew that everyone was talking about it, whispering their speculations . . . but her friends never brought it up.

She knew that they wanted to ask—she could see it their eyes—but something always stopped them, causing their conversations to die in uncomfortable silence until the subject was changed.

But even if someone confronted her on one of the many rumors, Hermione could neither confirm nor deny it.

She had spent days trying to piece together what had truly happened, but the memories were still locked deep within the recesses of her mind, and the only person that could provide the answers was the one person that that had only come to visit her once, so many night ago . . . and had left her wondering and more confused than before.

She wanted to ask her visitors about him—ask how he was doing . . . to see if he was alright . . . to see if he was planning on coming back—but she couldn't quite bring herself to say the words.

So instead, she listened politely, smiling and laughing until her guests left. And then, she was stuck with the demons that still lurked in her mind.

She lost sleep trying to force herself to remember, but the more she tried, to blurrier everything became.

So the days passed and she grew stronger—stronger physically as the cuts and bruises slowly began to heal . . . but not mentally or emotionally. She had so many questions, so many feelings running through her, but there was no one to confide in.

She was constantly surrounded by people, but they were people that hadn't experienced what she had experienced . . . hadn't _felt_ what she had felt . . . people who just didn't understand.

She had looked death in the face and lived, although she still didn't know how.

But her friends had stuck by her, trying to understand as they constantly offered their support, until, at last, she was approved to leave the hospital wing.

And now, finally free, she was inwardly grateful for her friends' never-ending concern, although Harry and Ron seemed to take it to the extreme—both treating her as if she was so fragile she would shatter at any moment.

This afternoon, Harry had come and picked her up, insisting that he escort her back up to the dormitory.

She hadn't fought it—hadn't even questioned why Ron wasn't with him—but now, as she carefully stepped through the portal, she realized why.

Her Housemates were all waiting for her.

Streamers and balloons accentuated a large sign that draped across the back wall—_Welcome Home, Hermione!_

_Home . . . ._

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes as she slowly took in her surroundings.

She inhaled sharply and felt Harry's hand grip hers tightly—squeezing in gentle reassurance.

Ginny was the first one to meet her, engulfing her in a large hug.

"How are you feeling?" Pulling back, Ginny gently brushed the hair from Hermione's face.

"Fine . . . ." Hermione shrugged, floundering for words. "Ok . . . ." She bit her lip gently as the word finally came to her mind. "Better."

Ginny smiled and squeezed Hermione's biceps. "Well, you know where to come if you need anything."

"Okay . . . okay! Your time's up! Out of the way!"

A loud voice rose above the low murmur in the room, and suddenly, Ginny was being pulled out of her arms and replaced by the tall, lanky frame of Ron.

"Hey beautiful, how's it going?" His voice was low as he spoke directly in her ear.

Hermione pulled him tightly against her body. "This is amazing. Everything is perfect."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Bending, Ron kissed her cheek lightly before releasing her.

Hermione's world then became a whirlwind of movement as she was swept into hugs, kissed, and greeted by her friends.

Hermione tried to keep up, but quickly found that she couldn't. She could feel an unexplainable panic beginning to build in her chest as she was pulled tightly against the bodies of her housemates.

Yet, just as it was beginning to get overwhelming—when the faces were beginning to blur and she was no longer able to recognize who she was acknowledging—a hand gently grabbed her arm and pulled her from the horde.

"Hey, hey . . . enough with the mobbing. There's plenty of time to for everyone to say 'hi,' okay? Just let her settle in and relax for a minute."

Harry had strategically placed himself between her and the rest of the group, his hand still gripping her arm in a protective gesture.

"Yeah, you heard the man! Give her room!" Ron began pushing his way through the crowd, creating a path for Harry and Hermione to travel through.

"Thank you," Hermione said under her breath as they slowly made their way over to a couch.

Harry flashed his famous grin. "No problem. Are you thirsty?"

Hermione nodded.

"Okay, you just sit here with Ron, and I'll go get you something."

Sighing, Hermione sank down on the couch next to Ron and closed her eyes. She felt Ron drape his arm over her shoulders and she leaned into his body.

"You sure you okay?"

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him using her peripheral vision. "Yeah. It's just a lot."

Ron shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing above his eyes. "I told them this was a bad idea—it's too soon."

Hermione shook her head. Sitting up, she faced him. "No, no it's not. This is a wonderful idea . . . just what I need. I just need a moment to sit, get something to drink, and then I'll be okay to mingle."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione placed her finger gently over his lips, silencing him. When she spoke, her eyes were earnest. "I promise."

As if on cue, Harry returned, with three butterbeers balanced precariously in a triangle between his fingertips. Carefully, he passed them out before plopping down on the couch on the other side of Hermione.

Taking a sip, Harry tipped his head back and sighed.

They sat in silence momentarily, before Harry tipped his head toward Hermione. "So, you doing okay?"

Hermione swallowed her mouthful of butterbeer and suppressed a laugh. A small smile played on her lips as she rolled her eyes playfully. "Yes, boys . . . I'm fine, I swear."

Harry looked at her seriously, his eyes clouded in uncertainty.

Hermione felt the smile slip from her face as she tipped her head toward her dark-haired friend. "Seriously. I'm not going to break. I'll get through this because of wonderful friends"—she looked toward Ron and back to Harry—"like you both."

Harry took her hand in his. "I know that—_we_ know that—Hermione, but we just don't want you to push yourself too hard."

"I know," Hermione squeezed his hand. "But hey . . . this is supposed to be a party, right? And I think that I have some guests to mingle with!"

Quickly changing the subject, Hermione finished her butterbeer in two large gulps, and placed the empty glass down on the table that was positioned in front of the couch.

Leaning, she quickly kissed Harry on the cheek and then Ron before standing and stretching lightly.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "What was that for?"

Hermione shrugged. "Just, thank you . . . both . . . ." She waved her hand in an empty gesture, "and not just for tonight, but for everything."

Harry shook his head. "You don't have to thank us."

Smiling, Hermione nodded. "I know."

Exhaling loudly, she looked briefly over her shoulder. "So, you guys coming, or what?"

"Nah . . . you go ahead. Enjoy your party. We'll catch up with you later, okay?"

With a final smile and a wiggle of her fingers, Hermione turned and was swallowed by the crowd.

The rest of the night flew by in a flash.

Talking and laughing, Hermione didn't notice as the hours quickly disappeared, bringing them deeper into the night.

She didn't even know what time it was. All she knew was that, surrounded by friends and love, she hadn't once thought about any of the events of the last few weeks. For a small moment in time, she was normal again . . . and not a broken shell of what she had once been.

Finally, though—like all good things—the night had to come to an end.

Speaking with Seamus, Hermione inadvertently yawned and Harry noticed.

Crossing the room, he gently touched her arm. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Hey, it's been a long day . . . what do you say we continue this tomorrow?"

Hermione looked up in surprise. "What time is it?"

"Late."

Looking around the room, it was the first time all night that Hermione noticed that the environment was significantly quieter. The crowd had dispersed for the most part, with only a select few older students remaining: Ginny was sitting on the couch, quietly talking with Dean, Neville was reading a Herbology article next to Luna, who was immersed in the newest edition of the _Quibbler_, and Ron was asleep on a chair in the corner, his head tipped back, mouth slightly agape.

And it was only then, that she realized how tired she was. Eyes burning, she rubbed them lightly with the back of her fingers.

Blinking, she nodded. "Yeah, I think it is about time to call it a night."

"Do you want me to walk you to your dorm?"

"No . . . I'll be fine."

Harry's eyes tightened in concern.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Ginny's still down here, okay? Besides, I think you've got your hands more full with _that_ one over there." Smiling, she tipped her head toward Ron, who was now snoring lightly.

Harry exhaled loudly. "I'll trade you Weasleys."

Hermione snorted. "Not a chance."

"Thought you'd say that . . . ." Harry sighed dramatically, but his eyes crinkled in amusement. "Well, you know where to find us . . . you know, if you need anything."

Stepping forward, Hermione hugged him tightly. "Stop your worrying. Just go and tend to Ron."

Harry tightened his grip momentarily. "Sleep well."

Parting, Hermione quickly said goodnight to Seamus and crossed over to Ginny. Bending, she spoke quietly in her ear. "I think I'm going to head up to bed."

"I'll come with you."

Hermione shook her head. "No. Stay, please. Have some fun."

Ginny locked eyes with her. "I'll come with you."

Hermione folded. She was suddenly so tired, that she was now grateful that Ginny was going to walk up to her room with her.

With a few final goodbyes, Ginny and Hermione left Harry, who was trying—unsuccessfully—to wake Ron, and slowly began the ascent up to their room.

Hermione didn't even remember changing into her pajamas, but before she knew it, she had crawled into her plush, comfortable bed—a drastic opposite of the small, firm hospital bed she had spent the last two weeks in—and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Sighing contently, her mind was suddenly on her day tomorrow.

She was excited to begin classes again; excited to have something to take her mind off of her recent experiences; excited to get back to normal.

But most importantly, she was excited to see Draco again. She had so many questions and she hoped with her whole heart that he had the answ—

Without warning, her eyes rolled—her body relaxing—as sleep took her hostage.

Breathing evenly, it was the first night in a long time that her dreams were not plagued with nightmares.

Getting back into a "normal" schedule proved to be much more difficult than Hermione had originally anticipated.

The day started well enough.

Waking early, the sun was just barely showing above the horizon. She felt well rested and dressed quickly, being careful not to wake her sleeping roommates.

Descending the stairs, she took a moment to take in the empty common room.

Evidence of last night's party still remained, and Hermione felt a wave of reassurance lift her spirits.

Crossing the room, she sat gently in the chair by the window, tucking her leg underneath her. Taking deep, calming breaths, she watched as the sun slowly cam up—changing the sky from gray to pink, to orange, and finally a brilliant yellow.

Closing her eyes, she let the sun warm her through the glass.

She never tired of it—the way her skin felt under its powerful rays; the way she felt alive because of it; the way that, no matter what, it always came back.

Lost in her meditation, she didn't hear the footsteps that were heading down the stairs.

"You're up early."

Hermione jumped violently, her breath hitching in her throat. Pressing her hand against her chest, she laughed nervously. "Neville, you scared me."

Neville Longbottom sat down across from her. "Sorry."

Hermione smiled, dropping her hand into her lap. "It's okay."

"How'd you sleep?"

"Good . . . ." Hermione sighed lightly, a smile suddenly crossing her face. "Great, actually."

"That's good to hear."

Neville fell quiet, turning his attention to the world outside of the window. Hermione followed his gaze, her eyes trailing over the sparkling Lake, the green grass, the large trees that bordered the Forbidden Forest . . . .

Swallowing, her mouth suddenly dry, she adverted her eyes. She cleared her throat hastily. "So, um, were Harry and Ron up?"

Neville turned from the window, his eyes locking with hers momentarily, and nodded. "Yeah. They should be down in a bit."

As if on cue, there was a thunderous roar of footsteps on the stairs as a flood of students came running into the common room, laughing and joking.

Hermione looked up just in time to catch Ron's eye. He was walking down next Harry, Dean, and Seamus.

Smiling, he waved.

Hermione waved back.

Gesturing, Ron yelled across the room. "C'mon, Hermione. Let's go get some breakfast."

Standing, Hermione quickly joined her friends.

She felt good—strong and confident—and ready to face the day.

Little did she know the feeling wouldn't last.

The feeling lasted just until she walked through the doors of the Great Hall. That was when the whispering started.

She didn't know why it bothered her, but suddenly, seeing the heads bent low at the other Houses' tables . . . knowing that they were gossiping in whispers about her . . . she suddenly felt self conscious and exposed.

Sitting hurriedly, she dropped her eyes to the table, her shoulders slumping. Rubbing her temples lightly with her fingers, she stopped as she suddenly grazed the gash that was healing—hidden just past her hairline.

The room seemed to quiet around her.

Staring blankly, her eyes unfocused, she was suddenly in the Forbidden Forest, her feet crunching lightly over the fallen Fall leaves.

She looked around—her heart beating painfully in her ribs.

All alone, she could feel her anxiety building. The sun sank lower beneath the trees, spreading jagged shadows around her feet.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to breathe. _This isn't real. . . this isn't real . . . this isn't—_

The ground abruptly broke beneath her feet, causing her to plummet into the earth.

Her stomach lifted, choking her screams. She could feel the wind racing past her, pulling at her hair and robes.

It felt like she fell forever, but suddenly her feet hit solid ground, propelling her forward. Somersaulting violently, her body contorted briefly before her temple slammed into the floor, and everything went black.

With a gasp, she blinked—snapping quickly out her trance.

Harry slid quickly onto the bench next to her. "Are you okay?"

Breathing hard, Hermione swallowed thickly. "I'm fine."

"Hermione . . . ."

Hermione forced a smile. "I'm fine . . . really . . . it's just a bit of a headache."

"Do you want to go lie down for a little bit?" Harry rubbed her arm affectionately. "I can walk you."

"No . . . no really, I'm fine. I think I'm just going to go and get some air."

Harry stood when she did, preparing to help her over the bench, but Hermione held her hand out, stopping him. "I'm fine, really. But thank you."

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione turned and quickly made her way toward the doors. She could feel the eyes of her schoolmates on her back and she hurried away, her eyes trained on the floor.

Her head suddenly _was_ throbbing.

_What the hell is happening to me?_

Stepping through the door and lost in thought, Hermione wasn't even aware of the crowd squeezing past her to get into the Great Hall until she physically collided with someone.

Gasping, she jumped back.

Keeping her eyes glued to the floor, she mumbled a quick apology, her cheeks hot and tried to sidestep the person that was frozen in front of her.

"Wait."

The quiet drawl stopped her in her tracks.

Lifting her head, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes were met with by a sterling silver gaze.

Draco stood before her, surrounded by Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy.

He studied Hermione's face momentarily before turning to Crabbe. "You can leave."

"But, Draco . . . ." Pansy's whiny voice elevated above all noise.

Draco's head snapped in her direction, his eyes narrowed. "Now."

Pouting, Pansy crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Glaring, she pushed past Hermione angrily and stomped into the Great Hall. Crabbe and Goyle followed suit, shooting Hermione dirty looks of their own.

Draco watched until the door closed behind them before turning his attention back to Hermione.

"Are you okay?"

Hermione nodded, at a loss for words.

"Are you sure? You look pale."

Hermione swallowed. "Just a headache."

Draco's eyes shifted from hers uncomfortably. "I didn't know you had been discharged."

"That's because you never came back."

Licking his lips, Draco kicked aimlessly at an invisible spot on the floor. "It wouldn't have been good for you."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin in defiance. "How do you know what's good for me?"

Draco frowned. "Just trust me. You shouldn't dwell on this."

"Dwell on this? How am I _not_ supposed to dwell on this! It's the only thing that I can think about, and I don't even remember what happened!"

"It's better that way."

Hermione grabbed his arm. "Why do you keep saying that? Why won't you just talk to me?"

Draco remained silent, carefully adverting his eyes.

Hermione pressed the subject. "Why did you stop me just now?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't know . . . to see if you were okay, I guess. But it appears that you are, so . . . ." He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Sighing, Draco pulled his arm from her and ran his hand through his hair. "Look, I know that you don't remember this, but there was a moment when we agreed that nothing was going to change…no matter what happened down there . . . and I think that's exactly what should happen. We need to move on. We didn't like each other before and there's no reason that we should start now. I'm not the support system that you need."

Hermione's mouth hung open as she processed his words. She wanted to argue—wanted to tell him that he was wrong . . . that he was the _only_ one that could help her—but was suddenly to angry to speak.

If he wanted it that way, fine. She could easily play his game: He could just go his way and she would go hers. She had friends that were a million times better and more supportive that Draco fucking Malfoy.

Frowning deeply, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Draco. "Fine."

Not waiting for an answer, she turned abruptly and walked away hurriedly—surprised when she felt a solitary tear escape from the corner of her eye and fall down her cheek.


	12. Someone Saved My Life Tonight

**Chapter 12:**

**Someone Saved My Life Tonight**

A bloodcurdling scream ripped from Hermione's throat.

Sitting up, her heart pounding heavily in her chest, she covered her mouth tightly with a shaky hand.

Panting, she strained her ears, listening intently and when she heard Ginny stir gently in her sleep, she closed her eyes and cursed herself silently.

"You okay?" Ginny's voice was thick with sleep.

Cracking an eyelid, Hermione glanced in her roommate's direction.

Illuminated in the soft glow of Hermione's bedside lamp, she could see Ginny propped up on one elbow, her red hair a tangled fiery halo around her head—her eyes still closed in sleep.

Hermione dropped her hand to her lap and swallowed. "I'm fine. Just go back to sleep."

Ginny grunted drowsily, "M'kay."

With a sigh, she dropped her head back to her pillow heavily.

Leaning her forearms on her knees, Hermione scrubbed her face roughly with her hands.

It was a nightmare—a nightmare she knew well . . . because it was the same nightmare that plagued her sleep every night: A nightmare about darkness, and cold, and creatures lurking deep within the decrepit crypt that was now her mind.

She had come to expect it.

And yet, night after night, she woke up screaming—trembling and gasping for breath, her face often wet with tears.

Her roommates had been her rock . . . her solace.

With each whimper, cry, or scream that exited Hermione's mouth, they were instantly by her side—comforting her, reminding her that everything was okay and that she was safe, reiterating the fact that she couldn't be hurt.

Quietly, they calmed her until she was able to get back to sleep.

Sometimes their calming helped, and she was able to fall asleep once more—her nightmares just thin memories.

And on those nights, she dreamt of Draco.

But soon, even their words didn't help.

She knew they were right—knew that nothing was going to harm her—but she couldn't help the terrors that plagued her dreams, invading her head and causing her body to react in violent, involuntary ways.

And she hated it—hated that she couldn't control her actions; hated that she was bringing her anxiety and irrational fear to her closest friends.

So, it didn't surprise her when their physical worry and comfort soon became only words—spoken from the warmth and security of their own beds.

And she didn't blame them when their mercy slowly began to dissipate, when even their words of support began to disappear . . . until finally, just as she expected, they left her—seeking a quieter, more peaceful solitude.

So now, it was just Ginny . . . and to be honest, it blew Hermione's mind that even _she_ had stayed.

But she had.

She had endured it all—the screaming and restlessness, the light that always had to remain on, the distance and depression—but never fully getting an answer that she deserved.

Because Hermione herself didn't have that answer.

The only answer she had was that she was broken—permanently disabled, both emotionally and mentally, and she couldn't find closure, no matter how many friends were by her side.

She couldn't even believe that _any _friends remained by her side.

And as the moths passed, bringing with it new seasons—fall rapidly changing into Winter—she could feel the rumors beginning to die down.

People weren't talking about it as much . . . .

Instead, they were slowly getting back to their own lives, pulling away and leaving her to battle her demons alone . . . or at least she _felt_ utterly alone.

The dreams provided insight into what had happened deep in the earth . . . but Hermione couldn't be sure if they were real, or simply her subconscious' way of dealing with the trauma.

Without confirmation of her thoughts, she found that she was still unable to distinguish dream from reality. But she knew that confirmation would never come, as Draco hadn't spoken another word about their days spent in the Earth since the morning outside of the Great Hall.

Looking up, Hermione glanced at the clock and sighed heavily. At this hour, she knew that she wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep. The sun would be rising soon and her nerves were still on edge.

Throwing the blankets back from her legs, she swung her feet to the ground, dressed quietly, and padded silently from the room.

Yawning, she slowly made her way down the stairs, her eyes burning.

Crossing the Common Room, she sat heavily in a chair by the window, her eyes tracing the frost trails that kissed the panes of glass.

It was getting colder out—the snow beginning to blanket the ground, creating a wispy, whimsical land of enchantment. The holidays were nearing, but Hermione didn't feel the usual excitement that came with them.

She felt out of sorts . . . like an out of body experience, slowly watching her life slip by as the world around her continued on in its normalcy.

_Normalcy._

It was a word that Hermione once took for granted.

But _now_ . . . .

Now, she would give anything to only achieve it once again.

Leaning her head back, she watched as snowflakes fell lazily, swirling circled patterns across the darkened sky.

They danced and shimmered before her and suddenly, her eyes were getting heavy.

Relaxing, her eyelashes fluttered lightly until they finally came to rest against her porcelain cheeks.

_The ground was hard and she was cold._

_Turning her head, she stared into the sky—squinting toward the small hole that broke through the earth, producing the small amount of light that dimly lit the area around her._

_Snowflakes fell, twisting and twirling like drunken ballerinas—beautiful in their chaotic movement. They fluttered and floated, until they came to rest gently on her face, hair, and clothing._

_She watched, mesmerized, as they slowly melted—disappearing as they transformed into small liquid droplets._

_Exhaling, her breath formed foggy puffs above her mouth—a visible indication of the temperature. Silently, the veil churned and coiled, snaking almost demonically toward the sky._

_She felt alone—_knew_ she was alone—and it terrified her._

_Curling tighter on her side, she shivered as tears brimmed in her eyes, threatening to spill over._

_Suddenly, she felt pressure pressing lightly against her back. Slowly, an arm reached out, draping across the curve of her waist and pulled her tightly against a warm body._

_She felt breath—hot and even—blowing gently across her neck. Shutting her eyes, she focused on the feeling of the person behind her—how she felt in the tight embrace: warm and secure—and without looking, she already knew who it was._

Draco.

_She didn't know why, but without warning, she was lightly dragging her fingers up Draco's arm, feeling the contours and ridges of his well defined muscles._

_His lips began to nibble lightly on her neck, teasing as he tasted her flesh until they found her ear. Carefully, his teeth gently grazing the sensitive lobe._

_Sighing, she tipped her head back, allowing him better access and rolled her hips into his lap. _

_He groaned, burying his face into her neck, and she felt his body harden against her._

_Moving down her jaw line, Draco's hands roamed her torso, pulling at the fabric until he was able to slip his hand underneath her shirt. His touch was warm and slowly, he trailed upwards until he cupped her breast—palming it lightly through her bra._

_Turning her head, she caught Draco's eyes and gasped at how dark they were—dark with unfathomable lust._

_Softly, she pressed her lips against his. _

_He tasted sweet, his lips soft and warm, and she gasped—heat rushing to her lower abdomen—when his tongue gradually slipped from his mouth to tangle lightly with hers._

_Moaning against her mouth, he deepened their kiss._

_Hermione spun in his arms, pressing firmly against his body as she twisted her fingers in his hair. Rocking, she undulated against him gasping as new sensations and pleasures pulsed through her body._

_Draco rolled, his body easily slipping on top of Hermione's. _

_Wrapping her leg around his waist, Hermione pulled him closer, shivering as his hardened length pressed against her aching core._

_She lifted her hips up against him—wanting more . . . _needing _more._

_Abruptly, he pulled away._

_Hermione's eyes opened. Panting, she stared at him._

"_This doesn't change anything. You know that, right?" Draco's voice sounded odd._

"_What?"_

"_This isn't going to change anything . . . now or later . . . it's all just going to stay the same."_

_Hermione shook her head. "No. It doesn't have to be that way."_

_Draco's eyes looked sad. "No. It does. We agreed."_

"_Agreed? _Who _agreed? I don't remember agreeing! Why won't you just talk to me? I _need _you. Can't you see that?"_

"_I'm sorry . . . but it's better this way. Please . . . just forget this ever happened."_

_Hermione's voice cracked. "I can't."_

"_You have to."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because it's time to wake up."_

_She gripped at his cloak. "No . . . no please, don't leave me. I don't want to be alone . . . I _can't_ be alone anymore." _

_Draco leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose gently. "Wake up, Hermione."_

"_No."_

"Wake up, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes fluttered open. Harry was standing above her, his hand gently on her arm.

Disoriented, it took her a moment to gather her bearings.

She was still sitting by the window in the Common Room. The sun had risen, illuminating the brilliant snow outside.

Her Housemates were beginning to make their way from their dorms, dressed and ready for their morning classes.

Laughing and talking, they barely glanced in her direction as they bustled from the Common Room and to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry looked at her in concern. "Are you alright?"

Hermione swallowed thickly. Her body felt weak, her head throbbing.

She didn't know what she had just experienced, but she knew that it wasn't just a normal dream.

Looking outside, she silently watched the snowflakes fall.

And suddenly, it was as if time were moving backwards.

The flakes were falling away from the earth—disappearing back into the sky. The ground slowly uncovered, exposing the dead, bare ground.

She stared in confusion, trying to understand what she was seeing, but abruptly, she was walking through the woods, leaning heavily against Draco—broken and bleeding.

No . . . she was being carried—gripping Draco's neck tightly, shivering against his body.

But now, it was dark—and they were stumbling through the murk, blind and looking over their shoulders in apprehension.

Hermione felt her stomach twist in memory. She didn't want to be here anymore.

As if on cue, they were suddenly in the opening deep within the earth, shivering against one another, trying to find warmth and comfort. She was trying to focus, but her head was throbbing too much—her body sore, her stomach empty and hollow.

Draco was hurt . . . his ankle swollen and hot to the touch. She touched his leg, her fingers so cold against him.

And they were twisted within each others' arms, grasping and groping in animalistic need.

_This isn't going to change anything_.

They were fighting . . . yelling and blaming one another—separated across a wide, open space.

Snow fell steadily, covering them, and she was pressed against his body, wishing her warmth into him as he shivered beside her.

_Falling._

Their wands drawn, the earth opened up beneath them . . . and they were falling.

Hermione paled, her stomach churning violently.

With a gasp, she pressed her hand to her mouth and tried to swallow the bile that threatened from her mouth.

Harry gripped her arm tightly. "Hermione? Hermione, are you okay?"

Mechanically, Hermione shook her head. "I need to talk to Draco."

Harry's forehead creased.

Nervously, he bit his lip, his eyes adverting Hermione's gaze.

"What? Harry . . . what is it?"

Harry licked his lips. "Malfoy's in the hospital wing."

Hermione blanched. "What?"

"He freaked out yesterday in Divination . . . I mean, completely lost it."

Hermione gripped Harry's arm tightly. "What happened?"

"He fell asleep and just woke up screaming. Nobody could calm him down. I don't even think he knew where he was . . . he had this _look_ in his eyes . . . like a trapped wild animal. And then, he just collapsed."

Hermione inhaled sharply, tears filling her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry shrugged. "We didn't think it was that important . . . and we didn't want to worry you."

"I need to go."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Hermione nodded woodenly. "I'm fine. Thank you."

Standing, she pushed her way past Harry and quickly made her way to the door.

She didn't remember her feet moving, but soon, she was standing outside of the Hospital Wing.

Her heart was beating painfully against her ribs and she suddenly felt apprehensive. But she couldn't turn back now . . . not after what he had done for her.

Quietly, she entered the room.

The room was vacant, the beds pristinely made, except for a bed in the back corner. A curtain was drawn around it, and even though the sun had just risen, a bedside lamp illuminated the fabric.

Softly, she padded across the room, her feet noiseless on the tile.

Reaching out, her fingers gripped the curtain.

Ignoring the way her stomach twisted, she took a deep breath and ducked behind the material.

Draco was tucked into bed. His hair was disheveled around his face and, although his breathing was calm and even, his eyes were squeezed shut—his forehead creased in worry.

Stepping forward, Hermione gently sat on the edge of his bed.

She placed her hand on his face, gently cupping his cheek.

Sleepily, his eyes fluttered open—they were hazy with confusion.

Blinking rapidly, he struggled to focus.

"You look so pained as you sleep." Her voice was soft . . . gentle.

"What are you doing here?" Draco's voice was husky.

Looking down at him, Hermione studied his face in worry. "It's still the nightmares, isn't it?"

Draco swallowed thickly, licking his lips before answering. "No."

But she could tell by his body language . . . by the way his charcoal eyes were glistening that he was lying.

She ran her thumb lightly over his skin and he pulled back—recoiling in suspicion.

"What are you doing?"

Pain and understanding filled Hermione's eyes. "I remember." She took a deep breath and released it shakily. "I remember everything."

Even in the dim lighting, Hermione noticed that Draco paled visibly.

Clenching his jaw, he turned his eyes from hers and stared blankly into the open room. "I'm sorry."

Brushing his hair from his forehead, Hermione shook her head in confusion. "Why are you sorry?"

"You shouldn't have to relive that."

"And you do?"

Draco nodded once. "Every day."

"It doesn't have to be like that. You don't have to be alone."

Draco averted his gaze from her and a single tear escaped the corner of his eye. Trailing slowly down his cheek, it shone brilliantly against his skin in the dim lighting. "Yes . . . I do."

Wiping the tear softly with her finger, Hermione gently gripped his chin and forced his gaze back to her.

Her eyes soft, she shook her head slowly. "No . . . you don't. I'm here. We can do this together."

Draco bit his lip. "You don't owe me anything. You saved my life down there and that's enough. I can't drag you down with me—I'm broken." His voice was thick with emotion.

Hermione smiled, her eyes glistening. "That's where you're wrong. We saved each other . . . in more ways than you know how."

Leaning forward, she placed her lips lightly against his.

Draco pulled back in surprise, but soon his lips worked gently against hers. Slowly, his hands twisted in her hair, pulling her closer.

Breaking their kiss, Hermione pressed her forehead against his and caressed the side of his face warmly. "We can do this, you know . . . we can fight this together."

"You won't leave me?"

Hermione laughed lightly. "Someone once told me: 'Not for a second. I'll be with you . . . the whole way.' I just need you to trust me."

Bringing her feet up, she curled up next to him.

Wrapping her arm tightly across his body, she laid her head on his shoulder tenderly.

He reciprocated, leaning his head on hers, his lips kissing the top of her head affectionately as he smelled her hair.

Closing her eyes, it was if a weight had been lifted from her and it was the first time in months that Hermione didn't dread going to sleep—because she knew that she was _finally_ safe and that nothing more was ever going to harm her.

The End

_A/N: Woo-Hoo! We made it! Thank you all so very much for all of your continued support. Thanks to all of your feedback, it ended much differently than I had originally planned, but I really like the twist of fate. It just seemed to work. I hope that you all have enjoyed it and thank you again for all of your patience with my little "slumps." If you liked this, please keep you eye open for my other stuff (new and old). I seem to have caught the writing bug again . . . at least for a little while __ But, no matter how long, I promise more Dramione goodness! Thanks and take care._

_*~*Jadeddragon4*~*_


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